Saturday, 16 April 2011

GNAWING

Gnawing calmed you.
Your snippy snappy snout
Was like a garden shredder. Objects
suffered, not least my rope soled sandals.
You ignored nothing
And gnawed the lot:
Slugs, bugs, planarian worms,
Whatever the cave offered.
I sat near you, barefoot,
Eating my quotidian supper,
Drinking your concentrated calm
And a quart or two of Guinness,
Fearing for my toes,
Watching your pretty pink sinuosities
Quiver with delight
While you gnashed turnips from Tripoli
And bananas from Benidorm,
No, not Benidorm exactly,
…Ben something?
Benghazi?
Right!
Benghazi.

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