Cumin, chilli, coriander, turmeric –
combined, create
turmoil in my head …
Confused, dizzy and disorientated, I
further intoxication,
hold my breath,
ignore the rumbling pleas from the labyrinth
within and stumble onwards to
Head Street to the
754, that waits
patiently for today’s meal, an undernourished battery hen,
past its best, unable to escape from destiny, and unable to lay its final
weakened, until

tomorrow, when in a last rebellious surge, I walk
down the High Street, knowing that the 754 wants more, wants to scrape up
yesterday’s chewy-old flesh, the gummy bit that it spat out, softened and mellowed now, ready
for a refuel.

Lingering, I hunt down the curry stall, its High Street spot – empty,
trekking further into the town to sniff it out, to fill myself up, to give me energy, to reach the end
of another day, to approach once again the 754, to make myself last out until …
No curry. No stall.
No egg.

Resistance is futile … I rumble on …

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, May 2017

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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