exercise in style 18 |
Queneau - French bloke, wrote a book, inspired me. I've explained it all here.
Day 18 - Point of View table)
I haven’t always been a table.
I started out in the forest, mighty tree I
was.
Then the bastards chopped me down, dragged
me through the mud, cut me arms and legs off and sent me down the river.
Bloody freezing it was.
Great ugly git with a wicked hook yanked me
out, sent me through the saw-mill.
It was murder.
Then they nailed me up like Jesus on the
cross, called it a boat.
They even smashed a glass bottle over my
head.
Bunch of pirates tore me apart with cannon
and I almost drowned.
Washed up on the west coast and lay there
for years.
She picked me up, took me home.
First loving touch I’d felt.
Waxed me, polished me.
Made me shine.
A small heart carved in my skin?
Nothing compared to want went before.
Her name, I’m proud to wear.
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