Foot in Mouth
Philip Quinn

In the ritual of the testament, I sat with a Mr. Fothergill who most peculiarly dug into his right eye, and found an imprint as if I was a party to a marginal bank clerk and her attendant dancing.
Up and down, up down, the boy commanded and the old woman made the pieces of coloured paper disappear down her throat.
In the memory of the moment I examine it and find utensils and a silvery eel.
I dump the contents out, a stomach, a lager and a Brazilian wrist watch.
Sandoo, sandoo, she screamed as the bird of paradise flew under the roof of her mouth.

1996 © 2008