The Collector

[MystyrMystyry]

Poking at the fire
With a dual pronged fork
Redhot from the flame
As the swirling sparks
Up the chimney spiral

A desperate knock

He gets up to answer
Poker in hand

Hello?

The first offender
Indeterminate
In black balaclava
Barges forward
Those eyeholes
Are the right
Distance apart
Instinctive response
And the hot prongs
Fry a pair of
Previously perfect
Retinas

An unearthly squawk
As the next tries his luck

Sssssss! go his nads
In a fit of steam
And he drops
In out-of-body prayer
To the aroma of roast nuts

The last whose view
Had been blocked
Charges hard
Oblivious to sense
And cops it in the
Nose and gob

Pinned to the wall
With steel determination
Until collapse


Three prime specimens
For the salt-damp dungeon


He gathers the shiny knives
And adds them to

The Collection






.