by Joe Ambrose
I was stranded in the bar of the Clarence Hotel in Dublin waiting for a friend who never showed up. I was there alone for an hour on the early evening of December 8th. The bar, usually serence and gently sociable, was occupied by an office Christmas party so I, having never worked for a day in my life, felt out of place.
I saw a very fat woman in a tight dress sitting on a stool in front of me and I noted the elastic on her nickers cutting into her ample flesh so I wrote down the following:
Her nickers cutting into the fat.
If I was painter,
If I was Rembrandt,
I'd paint that!
FICTION & POETRY ARCHIVE
- Charles Plymell in Austria
- If God Had Meant For Us To Work He Would Have Given Us Jobs
- Grand Duchy: I Got You, Babe
- Because We are all Like That: Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte
- Tangled Foilage and Dusky Air: Ariosto & Vivaldi's Orlando Furioso
- Know Your Product - Northern Wood's Flat Pack Bookstand
- Tav Falco's Christmas Stocking Stuffer Wish List
- Wayne Wolfson's (by his own admission) almost, sorta, borderline in parts new agey-ish Christmas Wish List...
- Donny Ducote: My Christmas Wish List is Ancient History now
- Bob Dylan Sure Grows One Hell of a Moustache