Tristan Hazell lives and works in the shadow of the Westway on Portobello Road. What follows is a collection of observations, reviews, social comment, fiction, poetry, art criticism and more. Much of it is fiction and some of it will offend someone somewhere, I hope.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Guaranteed next day delivery. A valentines day poem.


I killed my love on valentines day
I didn't chose the date
especially...    To kill my lover, my only and forever, my darling, my soul mate
It just happened that on valentines day
love simply turned to hate

If you could ask him he'd blame my husband
and the fact that I still drank from the marriage cup
even though I'd long left him
was well nisi'd up
But his mother was the problem
I knew he would never leave her
So I gave him a poisoned chocolate orange
then segmented him with a cleaver

Chopped him up then boxed him up
sent him to his mother
along with his valentine card
that assured me he loved me like no other.

I chopped him up and boxed him up
and sent him DHL
to his needy spiteful mother
in her surburban hell
but they took a week to deliver him
and were alerted by the smell
that was my undoing
the disposal of my dear dead ex
I should have chopped him up and boxed him up
then sent him by FedEx.

Guaranteed next day delivery.



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