the squeals laughter and chatter
from the busy market
suddenly fell silent,
and a cathederal hush,
crash bang wallop,
descended, then with one accord,
the erstwhile happy haggling shoppers,
rushed screaming into the moonlight.
In the aftermath body count,
an abandonned child was found,
playing happily with an unexploded
fully primed, ready for the off, device
and with no sign of an apparent injury,
it was decided the dead suicide bomber
had been struck down by,
holy holy holy! god.
The child was at once declared a saint
and was to be duly reverenced,
but, in that particular goody good good church
a living saint was unacceptable
so he was dutifully despatched
and amid twentytwo days of prayers,
benedictions and copious amounts
of freshly shed, sacraficial blood
it was decreed that he was now situated as a mole
on gods left buttock,
and therefore it was right and proper
to worship him in a due and distinct manner.
I.E. Henceto and beforth,
all bottoms will be bared
in any direction it suited the participant
but it must be eleven times
and in reverential silence
and sixtyfive million candles will be lit daily,
in his memory.
P.S. If any nauseous gasses are detected
in this solemn and solicitaceous ritual,
thirty lashes on the offending bum
will be administered
by the officiating servant of the church.
amen to all concerned.
archie hardie,28/3/2008
archie hardie archie hardie
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mental-market-place/
