My goose hisses as I walk the length
of the identity parade. The bespoke
suits of potential criminals crease
as each identikit man reaches in turn
to pet the witness; it eyes their ties
- colour coded gang tags - and rattles
its tongue in its beak as they tweak
at its tail. For this is the choice:
the spiv who plucks most feathers
with the least noise shall win
my harlot head on their pillow.
No comments:
Post a Comment