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Sheila Greene May 2020
Cotton has a plantation,
It’s home in central Texas.
It might be your cremation.
Don’t drive up in your Lexus.

In the barn he persecutes.
Devices of mad torture.
Chainsaws, meat hook executes,
Diced and spilt into quarters.

The Bloodbath we fascinate,
Victims face he has gotten.
Oh my, he does dominate.
****** face here’s some Cotten.
This was based on my trip to Florida last week because I’m convinced Waze wanted to **** us.  It took down this back Texas road that looked like Leatherfaces home.  It’s done in Ae Freislighe, an Irish Quatrain.
Gabriel K Sep 2015
the preliminaries
I ask him how he is
the portable phone,
not great he insists
two days of indigestion
trapped wind
“I'm farting all the time”
I laugh
“it's a worrying sign”
he insists
“I've had cancer twice.”
I elect to treat the matter as a joke
with levity
no one ever died of broken wind
I don't think
But Ron wants medical attention
some kinna tests
wants money spent
some kinna probe maybe
a machine
with noises like a robot
a digital read-out.
When they call “Mr Hilton”
Chelsea & Westminster
ask what he's been eating
“Are you keeping regular meals?”
Ron mentions cancer
Dr Pasek laughs
something stirs in my intestine.

— The End —