Cranky from the lack of sleep,
I twist my fin
into a knot of agony
Swoosh!!

The-...     An-...
Aw, the **** with it...

Lately
I’ve been thinking
that all men are cremated
equally crisp.
But my next door neighbor
still smolders darkly
in his backyard grill pit,
his dogs frantic in their drooling lust
to lick his charred flanks.

Dear grieving widow –
would you honor me
by dropping in for a cup of tea?
She wails and moans,
her pelvis slack
and canted downwards.
It will be a chore
to get her to loosen up enough
to hurl a ****
heavenwards.

The specifics of our last conversation
escape me.
But I do remember calling you
an angelic ****
with the personality
of a rabid piranha.

You responded, with a dreamy smile,
“But, my dear Rudolf!
I do select my prey
by their spread and heft!
After all,
I just love to hear
that gristly pop
when they open up
for my sanguine delectation...”


Aurora, CO – May 1995
Derek Bascombe