Friday 22 November 2013

#74 - Sometimes Too Hot

Caspar spits out a mouthful of casserole
to discover a gravy-soaked finger
twitching on his paper plate.
It beckons invitingly.

'Oh no you don't, sonny Jim.'
He folds the plate around it
like a macabre taco and marches
back to the organiser of the raffle.

'What the deuce do you call this?'
says Caspar, his whiskers thick with sauce.
The organiser, a rumpled, sallow gent
with a face like a limp windsock regards the prize.


No comments:

Post a Comment