Month: November 2014

The English Very Civil War

CAVALIER: May I skewer you with this pike?

ROUNDHEAD: Why, of course, dear sir, if you’d like.

CAVALIER: What am I thinking? Please, after you.

ROUNDHEAD: How very kind. Don’t mind if I do.

CAVALIER: Sorry about all my blood and guts.

ROUNDHEAD: That’s OK, it’s nothing much.

CAVALIER: You’ve just fired a musket in your head!

ROUNDHEAD: I thought I’d join you in being dead.

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black friday

few knew what lay in store
that Friday

it started (as such things always do)
with the haberdashers
where reckless price slashers
offered ten per cent off
cerise beading trimming
and soon the place
was full to brimming

as the prices lowered
the tension rose
resulting in a bloodied nose
by the children’s clothes

over in winter wear,
a couple of kerfufflers
turned to scufflers
over discounted mufflers
and there was more fighting
amongst the table lighting
as a shopper got lamped
and then put in the shade

there was carnage in the cardigans,
burnings in home furnishings,
a fracas near the nail lacquer
and a murderous mascara massacre

into luggage leaked mustard gas
and the worst case scenario
came to pass

thirty-five shoppers malled to death
who lost their lives in the fray,
the casualties of consumption
to be remembered on Black Friday

Kilimanjaro

the night Greg
summoned up the courage
to deliver his carefully prepared speech
to Sandra,
he was nervous,
declaring that he would
climb the deepest oceans
and swim the highest mountains
to be at her side

when Sandra laughed at him
and pointed out his mistake,
Greg fled and did not leave
his bedroom for ten days

the next time he saw her
Sandra was seeing Steve Glover
whom she subsequently was to marry

six years later, though,
Greg was to have the last laugh
when he became the first man
to swim breaststroke
across Mount Kilimanjaro

Phoney Existence

she was sick
of seeing Keith
playing with it

any opportunity
he would whip it out,
like a magician
producing a bunch
of plastic flowers
from under a gaudy silk scarf
for an audience
long since inured to ennui

she imagined
it was the weight of it
in his hand
that appealed,
as an assassin,
creeping up the staircase,
finds reassurance
in his revolver

the evening when her parents
came over for dinner,
she could tell
Keith was fiddling with it
under the table
from his glassy-eyed look
of distracted concentration

the fidgeting, the fudgeting,
the fingering, the lingering looks
he gave it when he wasn’t holding it,
(looks he never gave her anymore)
depressed her,
pushed her buttons

that Christmas, in desperation,
she bought him a phone
and he never played with it again