The Catch of the Day
Fresh from his fishing ketch docked
as fingers of sun touched a dwindling night sky,
on a plate, grains of rice profuse with yellow
provide a playground for pink prawns and green peas
in an alluring game of hide and seek.
To accompany it, in slender stemmed rose tinted glasses,
Rioja offers the promise of orgasmic bliss.
And in her remiss, fair Saffron, with wisps
of hair framing her face and feathering
across the pink of her cleavage
feels not, oiled tentacles of the octopus
projecting through a languorous smile and
encircling an English Senorita’s waist.
Copy right©Talia Hardy 2012
The Church of the Arsonphobia
In here, there are candlesticks with no flickering flame, no guiding light.
But there are, at each end of every pew, big buckets of water—bought by the barrel, the holy kind of course—should you need it.
‘Welcome brethren,’ the pastor says from the pulpit,
whilst wearing a parachute to protect himself from the final leap of faith.
‘Welcome,’ the pastor says ‘here, you are safe and will be saved.’
Whilst unseen, a firefly flits through the rafters in the gathering gloom.
Talia Hardy 2012