Groomed for Gunshots

Regimented robots

Groomed for gunshots

Not at all acceptable

To reject a less delectable

Dish if the orders were given

And the food had been served –

Don’t be absurd!

But the revolting slop refused to comply,

Stuck in your throat like a lie –

It wouldn’t obey,

Couldn’t be swallowed in any kind of way –

13:00 hrs – little robot thinks it will die

But won’t dare protest’

It’ll just have to digest

In the preordained manner

Dictated by the captor –

The lunchtime supervisor…

Gastric brutaliser.

 

Little robot usually did well

Knew the drill for the lunch bell,

Knew how many times to chew

To avoid being hit by the spoon,

But this culinary horror

Was causing some bother,

And though the little robot hated to admit,

It really was about to vomit,

Its eyes were secreting distress;

Its stomach about to violently confess-

It wouldn’t suppress,

Nothing would make it acquiesce

To this one last request.

 

Then from nowhere

The jug tipped over,

And the lunchtime supervisor

(Gastric brutaliser)

Was momentarily distracted by mopping,

So the little robot’s sobbing

Could be brought to an end,

With the secret swapping of the plate with a friend’s,

Who would make the ultimate sacrifice,

And eat the dish twice.

 

Good little robots,

Groomed for gunshots.

All words and images are the original work of the author and may not be reproduced without their permission.

little robots

 

Advertisements

Mourning Wood

15740772_10155578337660752_342470346012835228_n

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,

He scans the bereaved for available gashes,

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

Grief itself inflames his lust,

Black is such a slimming colour –

How’s your father? (And your mother?)

Tears lend such a delicate hue,

(Come now, this day’s about you)

‘She’s laid on the wake and made me a sandwich,

Surely that’s licence to make her my bitch?’

The pain on her face lends a peculiar grace,

Silent permission to give an embrace.

Was he very close to the deceased?

Not at all – just there to get her on her knees.

(Come, now – don’t play hard to get,

He knows a way that’ll make you forget)

Oh, it’s sad that you’ve lost your spouse

But honestly speaking, aren’t you a little aroused?

He’s there to fill the hole that’s been left,

To observe the ritual and her breasts –

They’ve laid her husband to rest in his plot, Now he’s straining to rest in that slot.

Death becomes her, it has to be said, He’s not resting ’til he gets her to bed,

He’s intoxicated by the scent of death in the air,

As he gently strokes her face and her hair,

(There, now – doesn’t that feel nice?)

He’s determined to please her once if not twice,

‘Don’t worry about what they may say,

Your husband has gone and is in his grave’

She leans in to him and it feels so good

As he leans into her

With his mourning wood.

halloweengravesbest

 

Words and images (c) of the original artist 2015 and may not be reproduced without permission