St Bosch and the Unsightly Erection

You may put me down
for a dozen raffle tickets ma'am
brackets
proceeds to Guide Dogs for the Blind
close brackets

I shut the door.
Two minutes 37 seconds
of Earth time elapse
during which
I go into my kitchen
get down on my knees
and pray to Bosch
the patron saint of broken dishwashers.

The prayer goes unanswered
so I kick the dishwasher.

It still doesn't work.

There is another
knock at the door.
It is one of my annoying neighbours
(I have many).
He is talking AT me -
some nonsense about the council
erecting unsightly phone masts
and local tittle-tattle,
while spittle collects
at the corner of his mouth.

Normally
I can tolerate this stuff
but not today.
No way, José (Mourinho).

I feel my anger
working within me like yeast.

I remember
my Zen studies
and try to rise above my inclination
to twat him in the McGillycuddy's.

I nod and smile politely
while, in my mind's eye,
he dangles from the top
of one of his phone masts.

A light supper for the buzzards.

B.R. 07/02/2017