The garlic, it sits there,
On the table, looking menacingly at me.
Its smell crawls out,
The smell wraps itself around my neck,
Yelling at me, the garlic,
It's smell begins to pull,
It's angry, and it chokes me,
I gag, but it loosens it grip,
Only after I put my shirt up to my face.
It howls in anger,
The garlic's ugly body sits.
In pain in it cries out,
It's smell once again lurks toward me,
In rage,
It's skin begins to peel off,
producing new, more deathly smells.
Enraged at the world,
The garlic's putrid smell reaches far and wide,
And its wrath takes many.
The breath of the world is inhaled.
by Douglas Coleman, gr. 9 |