we cover our mouths with lint and linen

waiting for them to drop a pound

a bag of tusks is on order

and the butcher is going to collect

the milkman's tears are crocodiles

a list does not a recipe make

a husky voice and a boisterous bell

hey toots, it's the nineties

 we've all been here before

THE REALISATION:

after writing for over thirty years

I still haven't finished this bloody poem

FIRST LINE:

'To be popular is to marvel at food…'


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