In Memorium
Can’t show my respects
to the carcasses entombed
in the wooden box.
Too many hours coaxing them to suck.
Suck the fluff.
Loathed in life.
Bagless in death.
How many rot,
stiff,
but with pipes entwinned?
View their colours,
never fading.
Unplugged,
their dirge silenced forever?
We need a new hoover.
We buy an ice cream maker.
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