An April Afternoon in an Ashby-de-la-Zouch of the Mind

Steam is rising from my grandma's wig.
All hope of ever escaping
from this oh-so-warm room
evaporated, like the teenytiny
tins of milk stacked neatly
in the nuclear kitchenette.

I release my prayers into the air:
a mini flock of feathered words.
But instead of flying up to Heaven
they drop back down to earth,
before expiring with a quiet pop!
like a bunch of cheap balloons.

There is a place
in dark blue woods of Zouch
where everything is known
and the secret of eternal life
can easily be learned,
but no one can remember
where it is. One tree
looks very much like another.

Didn't you murder my brother?
No? Is it something
that you might consider?

Later today, a piece of space junk
(roughly the size of three basketball courts)
is expected to crash somewhere
in the Great East Midlands Desert,
so as a precaution I am wearing
this bicycle helmet.
Do you really like it?
Is it, is it wicked?

Daleks are climbing the stairs.
It's getting late
and they're much too tired
to exterminate.

B.R. 19/04/2018