Mother's head implodes with a wet crunch
and I continue my recital. Afterwards,
the vicar congratulates me on my fortitude.
The vicar's head implodes with a wet crunch
and I stroll out of the church into spicy
autumn air. I pick some mushrooms.
At the hearing, the barrister questions my
cool demeanour. 'Is it true, sir,' his voice
a hornet heard through a desk fan,
'that after the incident you strolled out
into the graveyard and picked mushrooms?'
'Yes sir. Honey fungus, sir. Mmm, sir.'
I pat my non-trivial belly.
The barrister's head implodes with a wet crunch.
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