Bumwacking, Buzzel, Stubble, and Boot – A Poem

I just saw a panto horse driving through

a restaurant window

                                   driving an Aston Martin 

convertible and

the bastard’s right good. I left to investigate,

which turned out to be excellent timing. A disgusting

fat man ate several plates of food  

                                                       and exploded. As

I ran after the driving horse, nearby was the church

I’d attended as a child. Forgetting

the horse,

I entered the church, the familiar scent of lavender candles burning

 Father O’Briain enjoying his favorite

pastime: exercising in glitter.

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