high on the crest
of the fame mansioned hill
martha's menu is ready to grill.
rat kebabs on coat hanger skewers
roasted six minutes per side
over a bed of burning encyclopedias.
dressed with a lawn clipping salad
and home-distilled rum
made from ketchup and sugar packets
scavenged from derelict burger joints,
and hidden in her tattered but prized
dolce and gabbana handbag.
her dear husband trent mans the grill,
entertaining the guests with a quick jig.
he's sporting a hand-stitched kilt
fashioned from bus station upholstery.
he prances around a small bonfire
stoked with michelin all season radials.
a rum-loosened lady shouts bravo!
let's see what you've got under that skirt.
he twirls and says -after dinner my dear,
i'm saving that for your dessert.
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