the sushi chef wore one long latex glove and pale it was too;
it came up to his right shoulder while
he was slicing fifteen eyeballs in half. i was thinking
i should have ordered only five - they were brown eyes.
they made perfect maki, however. clever parrots brought them in hard beaks
to the table, dropping them delicately onto my plate one at a time
before making their way back down my clothes, down table cloths
to fetch the next delicacy of eyeball;
the chef gave me his glove to wear
and it was stained.
suddenly i was in two minds about the order
but i wasn't letting on.
i could sense their paranoia.
the fish, i mean.
seasofme301115parallaxis
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i really enjoyed this dream
YOU ARE READING
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Poetrymy personal favourites in one book. these all come from older collections. hardly any of the media belong to me
