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Village Idiot
By Paul Cameron Brown
Dodder capitulates on his bum,
skulks under fence posts
a twitch of Timothy weed prying
apart his massive lips.
A strip of lavatory paper
his golden rule; the
merrie lad bakes ready made
surprises to the jowled response
of his parting brains.
The mastication of shoe laces
on tired leather jerkins akin
to grinding Michelin rubber - his
reedy voice in overbite haste
rounding corners like a club-footed
dog travelling edgewise
from his master's sight.
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