Entrails. Aren’t they beautiful? Upturned and eviscerated, this rubbish bin spills a story onto the operating table of Polo Road, spattered by a street-surgeon that is a rattled bergie. What do we read, inside the blood, beside the filth? Crinkled stories in a Frito packet, a smile torn Black Label and the endless Savannah, coffeefalls, gushing gallons of Ricoffy, and Mr. and Mrs. Marlboro graining the patient with tiny studs of sticky tar… The surgeons hands recoil from the rubbished allegories that have crumpled here, tossed away, woven in a forgotten heap, decorated with a Jive and Diet Cream Soda…

3 thoughts on “Entrails

  1. Oh Yum. This gives me the urge to rush home for a beer and a ciggy. Washed down by lots of cheap coffee.


  2. Hello Ali!

    Diet Creme (pls note spelling) Soda is very much in existence in the nether regions of Africa. It is a delightful drink, and has been known to twist the stomachs of young children into irreversible knots, causing a very painful death.

    Please see new post on some of the antics of Lower Wrensch Rd. And please send any meories from Bellevliet Rd…

    Lotsa love,
    Mr. B.

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