vanilla custard

briefly, I saw pink elephants slurping custard
using their trunks as straws,
a herd of them, the beasts, I mean
the backyard swimming pool was vanilla colored
the in-between season's moss-like covering
replaced by chocolate sprinkles
making them cough in unison
scaring the pelicans roasting marshmallows nearby

the simple idea of a nonsensical daydream
instead of listening to my mother-in-law
bellow at the children
somehow refreshes my sense of reality

has no one ever told you your triple chin
makes you look even more ungainly than a sharpei pup?
they, at least are friendly

I take a last sip from the dead bottle of champagne
she leaves tomorrow and I can have sex again with my wife
for the adjoining guest bedroom will remain empty
to be aired out for a month - the old biddy's violet perfume
is worse than the garlic necklace I've been wearing for a week now

midnight chimes are drowned by the trumpeting of the herd
having reached the bottom of the lake
tomorrow there will be cream colored dung to be harvested
herded into the garden as compost
maybe my Venus fly traps will finally grow large enough
to swallow the wretched grandmother

I don’t think the kids would mind
they were trained to follow meekly,
like poor tame turkeys, ungobbling
to the slaughterhouse of uniqueness

I would, though, spare them additional pain from her early demise
would we play charades on her tombstone?



vanilla custard
17 november, 2006
[2006.17.11…d]