Were it to be intelligent

life, what would my mirror

make of my staring it out,

grimacing my face when

I shave my morning stubble

or peering at my un pink

tongue as I go gongoozling

away at it - whilst it pokes

back at me, my own cake hole


wide enough to eat a gateau

if the appetite were right, or

a slice of aunt Sally's special

cake, or yummy treacle tarts

seen as so un-cool these days.

What amazes me most of all, is

how the body disposes of it, after

the process of elimination begins,

those sins of tucking in, or over fill





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Sun 29th Nov 2020 21:30

Appreciation to Paul Sayer and Vautaw, for hitting the Like keys, and or commenting.

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Paul Sayer

Sun 29th Nov 2020 16:31

A poem of Tom Tit

I see the image of that fallen log.

Snow-covered on you Christmas card

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