Hairy New Year
Tried in the Barrow-in-Furness.
After twenty minutes
(at one-eighty degrees Celsius,
it's Gas Mark 4 innit?)
of being the meat
in a Hairy Bikers sandwich,
well, I freely admit that
I fervently prayed for death.
Mazza Berry
waits patiently in the wings
to be wheeled onstage
by the serfs of Sir Rick Astley,
stiff and bequiffed, like a
benign non-racist Morrissey.
With hand whisks for drumsticks,
she's a domestic Davros.
We all end our days
trapped in aspic,
glazed in acacia,
skewered and slung
on a slow-gurning barbecue.
The BBC don't care about you!
B.R. 31.12.2021
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