The Execution of Leon d’Oro- Grippo- Jonathan O’Farrell

Somehow, knowingly, he had saved

the last little remnant.

Somewhat dried six and a half month old toothpaste,

 for the morning.

In waiting, the end of the tube,

 or the end of his world,

he could not have, foretold.

But it was not to be, that brushing.

For he was served summarily,

with a single volley at 0102.

But, we have to say, to his delight,

the guards allowed a visitation,

by his favourite nocturnal denizen, around midnight.

Also, it maybe noted,

although denied that final pleasurable squeeze of dentrifice,

by the prior evenings confiscation,

the mutual fellation was supremely salacious.

And he even got some kip,

before the rudely unappointed hour.

Therefore, he really didn’t give a fuck,

this time.

Half asleep, satiated, as he was,

at the moonlit wall.

She will weep, he thought, last thought.

But at least I have penned her this

and she had her last meal, from me.

 

“I guess you might describe me as a semi-nomad, at the moment . . . and in the moment, I might change. I am transitioning into a creative life, blogging, photography and, significantly, the publication of my first two photographically illustrated poetry anthologies, this year.”

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