Wed Jul 19 2000

Rocket Powered Asparagus

I requested a tin of asparagus from the central store I filled out the form and asked for one, one tin, no more but just above the line where I would sign my name and finish There was a checkbox labelled 'rocket powered', and I knew I had to tick it. A fortnight passed, two weeks at that, I almost did forget to check my pigeon hole each day to find my rocket powered pet but when it finally arrived, panting quickly in its box I placed it on my window-sill to meet my hand carved wooden socks. They got on famously and soon I was jealous of my purchase So I moved my tin of greens into the bathroom with the gherkins, And I'd watch them brush their teeth in unison and think "how super!" to see the pickled and the packaged in domesticated stupor. Eventually the asparagus grew tired of this lark and started yearning for a chance to take its engines for a blast I'd hardly got it out the door before it fired up for action and it flew into the treeline in a rocket fueled reaction. I called its name, poor thing, it scuttled awkwardly with birds and finally, fell to the ground, squealing spudsy words And so I held its dented head with due respect and dirty rags and took it inside, to the kitchen, in a plastic shopping bag. "You silly tin," I scolded weakly, "you should learn your place "is not amongst the birds and gherkins, you belong in salad-space". With that it frowned, and cried and screamed, and bawled in green frustration For its rocket jets were clogged with spears of mushy sparagation. I placed it in titanium tubing, welded shut with care and marked it "please return to central store, if its wanted there" Then I threw it in the gutter (for my strictness is quite lacking) and humdrummed to the grocers' for some fresh aspara-snacking.


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