INCIDENT IN CROYDEN/OR COCONUTS FROM HELL
By mark_yelland-brown
- 874 reads
INCIDENT IN CROYDEN/or coconuts from hell.
The night air drives creatures from their vests.
Illuminated diatribes forceful, circumspect,
She lies, she lies I worry turn and cling,
To every tiny ornament a twisting turning thing.
She bleeds a while and stalks the floor,
A cat in truth, a bloodied paw,
And while we wait for the evening to commence,
She bends me over backwards,
Up and over the fence.
A struggle and a gasp,
A riot of colour, a farce,
This lady is for burning effigies and stone,
Glibly feeding goldfish,
Denying dogs their bones.
Tanzania, the Gambia,
Bloated but refined,
We stalk the rotten corridors,
With goblets full of wine.
This shoddy room, the painted walls,
The strips of newspapers that adorn the hall,
The evil smile from little men,
Who smile at us, then smile again,
The terrible smell from under the boards,
The chained chameleon that only snores,
The Rainbow trout we had for tea,
The slice of bread you ate at three.
Contained in all we think and say,
The knowledge of each others stain,
The coconuts,
The coconuts from hell!
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