Tis an uncommon thing this specious imagining
which has him reeling from the drink ‘specially
since he hasn’t had a glass (or thinks he hasn’t
had a drink) in weeks, feels a queasy feeling of
a thing come loose inside and tangled in the other
bits. Tis gas or love he doth opine. Burps, and farts –
it’s not the shits, the feeling stays, then love it is,
he canalises, of course I should have realised.
Who is to be the lucky lass? He staggers to his
feet to join the world and tell the girl who’s won
his grand desire. I’m yours, he sez, with fierce
intent, just pour me Luv a generous drink!
© 2007-02-17, I.D. Carswell
No comments:
Post a Comment