good taste

the second verse

of the original poem went like this:

The first bit isn’t true of course

-about tasting rat (though I’ve eaten horse)

I said the first line in reaction

to an Ikea toy’s insertion

in my mouth by a lively daughter.

The rest flowed out like murky water,

inspired by poems I have seen

by Roald Dahl on an iPad screen.

I wrote the first verse (like murky water) in April 2014, then wrote later verses on top of Jebel Akhdar in the middle of the night specifically for illustration in January 2018

The poem remains unfinished to date.

I do not like the taste of rat

I tried it once . . .

but quickly spat

it out into the rubbish bin (a rank receptacle of tin)

that stays outside the kitchen door

to keep the inside sweet and pure.

from there, the spat remains of rat

were later “rescued” by a cat;

a mangy puss, a tabby stray

who passed and sniffed my bin that day.

she took it to a quiet place

and carried out (with feline grace)

the grim dismemberment her kind

will practice on the things they find.

now to her lunch arrived a bunch

of pests – some uninvited guests.

As three days more our predator continued in her gruesome chore.

Two lice ten maggots came to feed. Three beetles and a centipede . . .

now why don't cats get gippy belly

sharing putrid flesh that’s smelly?

We humans have such tender guts
evolved to digest fruit and nuts.

and as our urbane culture grew,

we came to worship cordon bleu.

But stop and think and realise
not every feast before our eyes

is squeaky clean as mother’s nipple.

Consider first your favouite tipple . . .

as mr vonnegut deduced,

we set small microbes free in juice
to drink and dive in nature’s nectar.

They poo and fart. They know no better.

Their paradise they slowly brew
into a toxic bubbling stew.

When the last one dies by suffocation
We drink the same in celebration.

we really shouldn't feel surprise

if that murky mix intoxifies;
but even bread – the “staff of life”
(beloved by every man and wife)

owes its levity in part
to the pungent gas of the microbe-fart . . .

There was more but I won’t post it here, you can see it for yourself on my Instagram

footnote to mobile site . . . This note appears in a sidebar on computers and tablets . . .

the second verse of the original poem went like this: