The Sunday Special by Stan Long

The heimlich hadn't worked and Giacometti --slowly turning blue -- was choking on a weasel-word he'd swallowed with a mouthful of vroticelli -- the Blue Onion's Sunday Special -- not that he hadn't choked on one before -- some technique of the cook to bring attention to himself who among the gathering of local intelligentsia felt lowly and put upon --except this time he'd gone too far -- targetting the guru of the Poetic Front -- others -- all seasoned wannabes -- eating from the same pot had maybe coughed a bit but not seriously enough to interrupt their various ad-lib -- stream-of-conscious [same thing] rantings -- the noon hour wore on and each was still able to have a turn at the mike -- as Jacko would have wished -- so it was most unfortunate that someone had pissed on his parade --no one believed it was deliberate -- things happen -- "Serves him right" -- the sous chef was heard to mutter when the ambulance doors slammed shut and the paramedics took off.


All Rights Reserved--2007-2024