The Man in the Moon: Anthology of Poems by Sam Cullingworth - HTML preview

It's an ill wind...

I am the king of my castle.

Important, I disburse orders whilst

relaxing on the throne. But there's

a problem. An ominous gurgle,a

'rumble in the jungle'.

Hastily, I speak over the noise.

My subjects are none the wiser.

A thin, high-pitched whistling, like

a metal camping kettle comes

out  of  the  aether .

Only the dog pricks his ears and whiffles.

For now, my minions are unaware

of my bootyological plans for

world domination. Heh heh. A

royal snigger.

Lightning strikes! There's a storm outside.

My timing is perfect, like a herd

of wildebeest crossing a croc

infested river, the sound reaches a

crescendo that no one hears.

A deafening silence ensues. I wait,

patiently for the ensuing mayhem.

As the Brownian motion from my rear

conveys itself everywhere , olfactory

senses overload.

"Dear heart alive, was that you?" Ha.

"Was what me?" I replied. Good. A

question with a question. Another breath,

and screams ensue. A wild, apoplectic

face stares wildly at me, holding her nose.

"Welcome to Jurassic Parp!" I quip.

Smiling, immune to my progeny,

I waft and dole out equal measures

to all in my vicinity. They must learn to

"love the gas."

Shouting and crying, they look for a trench

to hide in, but to no avail. No one

escapes the ethereal aroma,

pungent and merciless.

Take no prisoners!