I squashed a cockroach the other day.
It was trying to get away and I squashed it.
Not that I had anything against that,
Particular cockroach but,
I was bare-foot.
I had tea,
And was bare-foot when he made his dash across the corridor.
It took some time to calm down and,
Fetch another tray.
It had moved.
A thick, white streak,
Of substantial viscosity,
Ran right across the floor and,
Straight under my door.
Her gartered leg was up on the table.
She removed a delicate silver pistol and,
With his back turned,
Fired a single shot.
I used a shoe this time,
Like a maniac,
Framed by a single,
Waited for the detective.
evocative short poetry -words move
♦photos – my little sister♦