The Aristocratic Cockroach

Standing in the cold-room, covered in a large white apron,

Gory splashes of blood soaking in patches,

A plastic face mask shielding my eyes,

Splattered with the offal it thankfully catches.

***

I butcher the meat from the suckling bones,

Stripping the skeleton naked and lean,

While holding an electric conversation with an aristocratic cockroach,

All about the most delicious cuisine.

***

I’m trying to hide a smile, a giggle, a great belly laugh,

At the little cockroach standing there in disgust,

Stepping back to keep his tuxedo free from blood and guts,

As his shiny black walking stick slips and breaks through the gore and pus.

***

His beady black eyes glitter in horror,

One eye monocled to combat his short sightedness,

Prim and proper he rounds his vowels,

As I go about my butchering with single mindedness.

***

I began sizing up this aristocratic cockroach,

As he was a good size with his beefed up legs and belly of fat,

I remember thinking he could be tonight’s entree,

Watching him squirm at the sight of me butchering this rat.

***

We moved to more lighthearted topics, earning a laugh or two,

As this aristocratic cockroach began to relax,

He’d forgotten what I was doing as I moved to the next body on the rack,

Dressing this one in a sauce of potent herbs and vegetable wax.

***

I was hypnotised by his deep, raspy kind of voice,

Not hearing the actual words he was throwing my way in a crisp, clean manner,

When he suddenly spies the axe I have silently picked up,

Quickly telling me it was time for him to leave, he was due home at his manor.

***

Before the aristocratic cockroach could scamper off, I suddenly asked,

“But Mr Moulder, won’t you please stay and enjoy the meal,”

I watched him carefully, as he inches closer to the door and replies,

“No, I’m sorry that’s not possible, I’m afraid the menu does not appeal.”

***

I tried not to be offended, as I watched him back further away,

Until he turned tail and run, leaving me in a fit of laughter as his behaviour reveals,

In his haste to leave, he was skidding and stumbling,

As the bloody floor tiles played havoc, staggering in his six inch stiletto heels.

***

Suddenly swoosh, his arms where cartwheeling, trying to gain his balance,

But he still managed to land on his backside, sliding in the river of gore,

His struggles as he tried to regain his feet, showered him in blood and guts galore,

As he slid and skidded across the slippery floor.

***

I was pleased with this outcome as he was effectively self saucing,

A marinating flavour my guests would rave about as they enjoyed,

When suddenly I heard a frustrating noise, dragging me awake,

To discover it’s the beeping of my alarm clock, my dream now destroyed.

If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

****

Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.