Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

3 Poems

<  Clownface

Mothers  >

by Judith Mesch




A sad kind of fella

A negative rod

Adorned with flagella

As if he gave a gram

Can’t even muster up the energy

To cook

His food is raw

Like slaw and

Eggs and beef

Sometimes for light relief

He’ll have chicken

He’s been found picken

On salad

As it stands,

Better wash your hands

Wrapped Too Tight  

Tuck in my hands, tuck in my feet

Button my belly; make sure it’s neat

Turn out my elbows, smooth my seat

Wash my hair so it smells real sweet

Fold my chins in a sensible pleat

Curl my toes til they look a treat

Then wrap me up in a crisp white sheet

And pray the Docs don’t hit delete

Now read the menu:

What’s good to eat?

Not this, not that.


I’ll have pommes frite

Aaaaaah.... Repleat.

The Common Cold

The Common Cold

Is Bold

But easily caught

Rarely extolled

Almost never sought

It’s thought there are

More than a hundred kind

To blow your mind

Or if you chose,

Your nose


published 6 April 2011