The Night Before Quidditch
A stunningly original poem conceived by Harrison Homel and Logan Anbinder
‘Twas the minute before ‘Brooms up!’, and all ‘cross the pitch
Not a creature was stirring, except for the snitch
The brooms were all near twitchy fingers with care
In the hopes that the ref’s loud call, soon would be there
Spectators were nestled, all snug in their seats
Daydreaming of hijinks and snitchly feats
And the ref in her jersey, and I with my ‘band
Were each hoping that this match would go quite as planned
When out from the speakers there arose such a sound
I almost diverted my eyes from the ground
But instead I just heard, booming forth to the stands
The rules, again, so adults might understand
And it seemed like, though all I could do was to hear
The snitch runner was coming increasingly near
With mischievous plans, so lively and quick
The crowd seemed to love it, whatever the trick
More rapid than most he dashed from the pitch
As he yelled out to taunt us (well isn’t that rich?)
“Now chaser, now seeker, now keeper, now beater!
Your balls are just fine, but my tail is sweeter!
To the end of the pitch, ‘til time’s up on the floor
You never will find me, don’t look anymore!”
As I thought in my head, “well, our outlook seems bleak,”
The commissioner came on the pitch like a streak
He was dressed in a suit from his head to his foot
Though in a rush, he would not be offput
A snitch cane he had firmly grasped in his hand
And he looked like the frontman of a very strange band.
His eyes– how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
[Ed. note– with this straight quote, don’t mean to a pal vex
But what a darn perfect description of Alex!]
A nod of his head, as he straightened his tie
Gave me hope that despite all, soon I could fly
He spoke not a word, but sat down in the stands
To a boisterous cry of “hey, you! You’re the man!”
The ref yelled “brooms up” to each and to all
Though I slipped upon push-off, I avoided the fall
We soon scored our first goal, the ref gave a whistle
As the quaffle had shot through the hoop like a missile.
And then after the match, as we hugged, the words came,
“Merry quidditch to all and to all a good game.”