The doctor
She duped the doctor at the dinner table,
as he dissected his brains on a plate;
A dull duodenum, insipidly able
to effect boredom, his discerning trait.
She nodded and yarred and picked at her Waldorf,
her taste for fine living drained out
he sapped all her humours, earth fire and water
and belched soporous wind from his mouth
She slid back her chair and walked out alone
her only companion despair.
And once he'd exhausted his self-centred drone
he realised she was no longer there.
Petulant Riskingham
