Every Saturday, Dada
made octopus punch
for sale on the beach
next day. I was
more a part of the juice
than tentacles; always
wondered why
he called it that. All
I remember:
rum-crushed
peanuts, condensed
milk, molasses, guiness
other 'mix-up mix-up'.
-----
One afternoon, he
threatened to
rub my salivary thumb
in fowl shit and sinkle bible.
-----
Sometimes
as penance, his veins
extended through a
piece of hose like
careful sucker thorns.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
I never did like it - way too bitter, though it did wonders as a facial cleanser!
