disquietingmuses

"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.

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