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The Luck of the Irish

de Radio Strange

On a crooked, cobblestoned and ancient road I briskly strode when two men wearing bowler hats, curled moustaches, all in black, on a tandem bicycle went this way, that way till they fell beneath a coach-and-four.
When I was just six I was rather curious regarding paternity. Just who could my father be? I think he was skeletal. i think he knew mother, well, controversially.

Then some time much later on, during breakfast Aunt Yvonne choked upon a bacon rind. She sang backwards, nearly died. Then there was my friend from school whose dog turned rabit, mad and cruel, and ate his master up.
I would need more fingers than are given upon either hand to count up all the sea-choked screams, calcined whispers, rendered seams,pudgy-pretzled baby limbs, punctured lungs and altered hymns I've seen and heard today.

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