On hearing John Fowles fart


In the sun bathed seaside town of Lyme

Where ice cream now drips where dinosaurs once walked

pastel shaded cottages skirt the sea

And Grockles eat cockles and cobbs on the Cobb.

A writer of repute resided

A postmodernist existential philosopher 

Who welcomed me into his home

A number of times, talking of his craft

His books his work and films that were made of this

But Why does my main memory of my meetings with him

Consist of the time that he sat in his study

And farted

humourJohn FowlesLyme Regis

◄ Fine.


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