Month: August 2016

For the prosecution

‘You made my life a hell, Jeb Thomas, coming home drunk every night and beating me black and blue, every night for twenty years! All my teeth gone and busted spleen.’

— You see, M’Lud, how she attempts to portray herself as the injured party in this case.

‘You broke my arms three times, once when I was pregnant, that time with Josie.’

— You see, M’Lud, how she tries to deflect responsibility from herself and onto the only real victim in this case.

‘You stabbed poor Janey in your drunken rage. May God forgive you, for I couldn’t. She were just a baby, Jeb… what else was I to do?’

— You see, M’Lud, the inverted heroism defense, as old as duplicity itself.

Let the record show that the defendant is brandishing her fists, apparently in the direction of Heaven.


 

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The menu

— The Count of Lampedusa
is coming here for tea.
Should I give him hairy bacon
or the mutton kedgeree?

— I hardly think that bacon’s mete
for aristocracy!
He’s used to fondant fancies,
not yer rustic kedgeree.

— Nutton wrong with mutton,
far as I can see.
And as for fragrant Frances,
who the hell is she?


 

Thankee, doc

I’m as lonely as an octopus
cast upon the beach,
when the tide has left the harbour
and the waves are out of reach.

That doesn’t mean I have eight legs,
or even six or four.
As it happens, I have one
— I lost one in the war.

But this is not about my legs,
— you’re putting me off track!
Let’s focus on my loneliness
and not the leg I lack.

But now you come to mention it,
that could be the key:
my loneliness is index-linked
to my disability.

Oh thankee, doc, you are so smart.
Such a teeming brain!
All I need’s another leg
to make me well again.


 

A bad night

I woke up this morning
with an aching head.
I forget to put the mattress
back on the bed.

I left it in the hallway,
to air it for a bit,
then I slept on the bedsprings,
like a total tit.


 

The weary pilgrim

My head is bowed, my feet are sore,
but still I make my way.
I’m coming to the end, I hope,
Of this, my weary lay.

I’ve walked this road for many years,
since nineteen sixty-three.
I wish someone had told me
there’s a bus that goes for free.


 

Delicate essence

I’ve always been quite delicate,
and I’m terribly refined.
I never bathe in public,
and my drawers are satin-lined.

I perfuse my skin with dewdrops,
lest the air despoil it.
I don’t like breathing, as a rule,
and I’ve never used a toilet.