I have no idea why I wrote this. I found it in my 'draft folder'. Evidently I intended to rewrite, but forgot about it.
Dream Stone
We arrived at the dining hall in a Land Rover
We were armed. I don’t know why
It wasn’t even Land Rover season
Leaned the shotgun against the dessert trolley at a jaunty angle
Hung my homburg on the hat stand, my overcoat on the coat stand,
My umbrella on the umbrella stand
One table was unreserved, and we sat down unreservedly.
Unswervingly
The carrots were gassy, the beans stringy, the potatoes stared unblinking.
The meat was pheasant. It was unpleasant, loaded with shot, but it was game.
The décor was neo-gothic
There were 278 skeletons, and all of them were Acker Bilk
The table faced into a corner, so we could not stare at the feast
The waiter looked unwell, unkempt & unaware of us at least
The waiter was me in 15 years time, serving the public
Later to cater for their nutrition
I wished id brought more ammunition
I awoke when I couldn’t take anymore,
Another washed up stranger upon the shore.
Rudi Z Samborski © 2005