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Written by Francis Scudellari
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Tuesday, 03 November 2009 05:45 |
Plump-fully fleshed, it sits
to me not unlike
a cloth of sacked potatoes,
though it's so pinkly dripped
and more misshaped
in its stranger bulgings.
This would-be man's clubby arms
and double-stubbly legs
tacked onto a drooping goop
that he eyelessly affords to
flap and flop around,
as a foundling seeking
its comfort's sorting out.
His sweet-meat rolls,
and summery salted stumbles
lead him to the final fall;
a downward folly
lacking its expected thud.
— Francis Scudellari
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