"Thorn and Cockleburr"
Copyright 2000 J. N. Foster

Tribute To Whataworld

So I decided to buy myself a breast and
move to California.  I wanted   to  perch on  a
lawnmower,    smell   toxic  fumes  from nailpolish removers and
wait till my  shrink   said I was  sane.

Boiled   spaghetti   settled  around my  neck.   Chained  by  bad
cooking,   I   smiled   like  a  fancy  napkin and served
catered   cuisine  with  apricots  when my   Mum
dropped   by.   Still maintaining    my   sanity   was   a  pleasurable

pastime,  Dickens   laughed  at  all  my jokes  but  I   refused to
hear him.   Rain fell   in  a   rhyme   scheme   of  ABBA,
I   licked   the  tarmac   and watched   out   for  nosy
neighbours,   but

at    least   they    never  left  their   window   open  so   I
could    watch    them   fucking    at    4 p.m.

I    did   not    scream   at   the   caterpillar  for   killing  my rose.
My   shrink nods.    I    shrink.   You    shrink.    She    shrink.
These  days   you can   walk into    a  place   and     buy  breasts,
move  to    California   with nothing   but  bad
spaghetti.     What   a   world.    I    wish   Charles   Dickens

was    dead.

Copyright 2000  Pooja Mittal
All Rights Reserved

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