night wakfulnessI swear I can hear a owl
or maybe a child
© Rachel Green 2020
he wants to make bread and butter pudding
I don't know why, for I can't stand the stuff
Much too sweet for me. I'd eat the sodding
bowl and die of clogged intestines. Enough
of soggy, cloying textures billed as cake
with custard full of sugar that my teeth
fall out in protest. Fie! I say. Just take
the filthy stuff and bury it beneath
the pat'io slabs. The body of the man
you formerly did love can have the treat
along with Christmas cake and cheese. He can
drag the sodding stuff to Hell. I shall not
partake this devlish raisen-infused snot.
© Rachel Green 2020
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