I turned up to lunch wearing my frog’s leg jeans.
They didn’t quite fit around the ankles
but they matched my lily pad hat.
I started chatting to the windows,
cracking jokes to the ice tray in the freezer.
I can’t speak French but that didn’t stop me
greeting other guests in it. I kissed the kettle
as it boiled the water for the gravy and
gave names to every single blade of grass
in the back garden. The room was freezing cold,
so I stripped down to my sandpaper boxers
and sang Lady In Red down a carrot microphone.
I gave birth to a pig.
I shaved one of my arms.
I lost to the moon at snooker.

© Carl Burkitt 2020