Monday, 21 February 2011

Tripe and Onions

What is wrong with me, why does
Everyone love tripe and onions?
Films are played, books written
Conversations at length
Served with silver cutlery
Flowers, good wine, fine linen
I can tolerate it served with love
But in a loveless marriage
Eaten as a takeaway
In the detritus of lovelessness
A quick fumble in the dark
A nasty messy horrible plate
Of cold congealed passion
Tripe and onions stink.

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