Chronic Ills #1

by grimbeau

The funeral seems to have gone well; from which
I imagine that he has been buried, the
family did not kill each other, her
mother did not walk around with her
knickers round her ankles, and nobody
died of tedium during the older
brother’s peroration.
However, I may well be wrong.
We are only renters here, because if we sell
we need somewhere to live.
I am, for some reason
unplumbable, drawn to the
Robert Donat’s political speech in
The Thirty-Nine Steps; something to do with
wearing a pair of purloined
handcuffs and having a piss. Indeed when
shackled together, he and
Madeleine Carol must have been
bursting for a pee: mutual micturition in
1930’s cinema anyone?
Who’s Gone for a Piss!

Advertisements