Mary Found My Shitbiscuits – A Prose Poem Containing the Word Shitbiscuits
Mary found my shitbiscuits and that’s why she took our boy away. She wanted to know why I’d put them on our boy’s face, but she wouldn’t dare ask. Our boy pulsated and fluttered and wouldn’t look at the light. Mary called the doctor. The doctor came up the tarmac to look at the boy. He took the shitbiscuits off our boy’s face. The boy seemed colder now.
‘What’s the matter, doctor?’ Mary asked.
‘He’s enrobed with shitbiscuits,’ said the doctor. ‘You’ve enrobed him with shitbiscuits.’
Mary was looking at me. I knew she was looking at me, but I watched the boy. Our boy’s face was as pale as a beaten egg.
‘He has meningitis, and you didn’t see the symptoms,’ said the doctor.
I felt the need to reply. ‘I knew he had meningitis. I saw he had meningitis. It was too late. I covered him with…’
And the doctor zipped up his leather bag, and Mary carried our boy out and shut the door behind her, and I heard the deathrattle by the telephone.
