Continents on Fire #2

A Poem by Marshall

Lisping along in the bravado nights
of banquet halls bursting with chandeliers
red carpets and butterfly maidens
serving delicacies of ordered neatness
tested in kitchens of manicured chefs
waiting in breathless expectation
of acceptance from a guest list
of the countrys best men and women

the chief gobbler looked at the lovely wife
of the chief guest
and gently slurped his birds nest soup
as the waitresses on wings flitted by
watching in delight
as his erection showed clearly at the thoughts
raging in his bald head.

He wanted this woman?

and they all approved willingly
that someone must lose his head
to the heavyweights lust
and for the upkeep of the national pride

before he picked up his chopsticks
and gold embossed napkin
he flicked it twice
and the chief gobbler was whisked
behind a red bleeding curtain

and his wife was taken
on a candlewick bedspread
of green and gold
draped with the crescent moon
and scimitar.

ask no more questions
on where we are
or lose your tongue forever!