by Nick Gisburne
There are body parts stored in the freezer
I am partial to brisket of geezer
I will roast him with quince
Though my girlfriend may wince
On her diet it’s tricky to please her
Of our garden the neighbours were jealous
And decided to come round and tell us
“What a wonderful tree
We have seventy-three”
Which is nice, but a tad overzealous
While it’s roasting, a body will burn
If you don’t give the carcass a turn
For the tenderest taste
Always frequently baste
It’s a talent we cannibals learn
He was mocking the state of our schools
Said our children were penniless fools
This contemptuous toff
Was unable to scoff
When we severed his family jewels
She had spent her life vainly imploring
That her husband should silence his snoring
But at last there was peace
For the snoring did cease
When she buried him under the flooring
On a rooftop the young man is slumped
Life’s a puzzle, by which he is stumped
As he crawls to the ledge
And looks down from the edge
In his mind he has already jumped
In a dying, dystopian land
Where all thought and all reason is banned
On the flag: stars and snakes
Golden promises: fakes
And the dream bleeds away in the sand
An impossible, infinite scream
Rips the ravaged remains of a dream
Eyes of terror burn blind
As a crucified mind
Builds a monstrous, malevolent scheme
As the creature releases a moan
It may curdle the blood to the bone
To its primitive cry
Comes a haunting reply
“Will you please take your eyes off that phone!”
If his face seems a little irate
That’s because he is seven days late
It’s a serious crime
But the very next time
Santa swears he’ll remember the date
