Slice up blood orange
groovy silver drainer top
provides an awkward abattoir
sacrificial altar piece
makeshift place to
unwield rustic
ludic rusty knife
to serrate
to appease desire
jag mutilate Seville
in garish tattered gumshield
quartered segments
skin & pith intact
snaffled up cutish juice flesh
tense borne by bent paw
over chasmic chasm sinkwell
The surefoot chariot passes over
Imperious, regal, sublime
galumphing Phoebe sated
licks syrupy lips, sighs & leaves
above vile understuffs
Not writing thus read
Goes the old threshing machine
Inside out workings
Belching, churning, lurching with
All the bits showing
Like Norman Foster
Or the Duke of Kent thanking
Ball boys and ball girls
For their servile services
Perhaps if he wore a floral hat
Like his smiley wife
It might brighten things up
Cut the military kit
If it’s nice out wear no clothes
Watch out for that wild fanbelt
And the people in smocks
Sporting giant pitchforks
Tripping on ergot
In the antic hay
And the grumpy teenager
With the machete
Grimbeau 