The Blob

A blob of blattspinat mit kaserahm
dropped like an act of God
on to the Rotary Club Vest
of one of the best in Westphalia.
His napkin furled and cutting
to the west,
the strident  slap
of his wife’s haddock,
her wet tattoo,
his iceberg lettuce
shredded dignity

How was he to convince,
coddle his wit, serve it
under this slime stain
this greenish slur
so early in proceedings?






















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