Pickled Eggs

Here he stumbles,
All hips and chins,

His pudgy mind lost
In fractured worry,

Irritable bowel syndrome
Haunting his daylight,

His stomach creaking
Like a Hitchcockian nightmare.

His brain squats in folly
And his face curdles loose,

His breath can stain skin
And he stomps like a troll,

His eyebrows are alive,
They have their own moan;

Birds disappear,
Just thickets left rustling,

Rabbits fill warrens,
All life dissipates.

He’s here – here he is,
He’s a wandering frown,

The idiot from the other night,
The meat-head village clown,

They cheered his name for minutes,
But now no-ones around,

He ate half a jar of pickled eggs
And now he’s coming down.

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2 Responses to “Pickled Eggs”

  1. jonathan russian Says:

    i love this work- i have read your stuff for a couple of years but never said anything!

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

  2. Lovely stuff. Great to know you’re a regular reader and you’re enjoying my poems. Great to hear from you 🙂

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