The Works of P G Heron

Every so often I get an email from a man calling himself P G Heron. This mysterious character sends me poetry which is clearly the product of a dilated anterior fundus, no doubt brought on by excessive consumption of eggnog. If you wish to read on do be aware that by doing so you risk your eyes turning into soil.

Wednesday 15 June 2011

Your Dinner

Your dinner
The Ark Royal
Inedible disaster
Sinking like a singularity
In Stephen Hawkings bed bath
A forlorn dollop of raspberry compote
Has fallen like a body bag
Upon your knee
When will you ever learn
Not to eat at the museum
Of Maritime history
Without your spectacles
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