POETRY: HERBY SOUP & WURZEL SHIT BY PAUL TRISTRAM

They are at it again over in Tee-pee Valley,
yogurt-weaving like it’s going out of fashion.
Collecting fox farts and badger belches
in rainwater cleaned recycling jars.
Boiling up cauldrons of lentils and beans,
selfishly never thinking of the nuclear flatulence
that each member of this passive aggressive tribe
will be tooting up towards the delicate ozone layer
around six hours after ladling and digesting.
Playing didgeridoos’ at midnight is just wrong
and unnatural, upsetting the general owl population
for miles in every direction, making them either
apathetic or suicidal and completely abstain
from what Mother Nature intended them to be doing.
‘Trespassers Will Be Tai Chi-ed To Death’
after first meditating upon their wrong doings.
The clouds of hashish smoke is curdling the milk
of the dairy farm next-door and I’m forever tripping
up over traps and snares that they’re disguising
as fairy rings upon the side of the woodland road.
We need to stop these ‘dirty hippies’ right now,
before their damage becomes complete, they need
to be forced back into council houses, made to take
back their bongos and wind chimes to the streets.

Written by Paul Tristram

Barstool

Available to buy via Lulu

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