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The dinner bell has just now rung,

The children running in,

The mother in the kitchen was,

The father in the den.

This family they were very poor,

Could barely ‘fford the house,

And some days when they had no food,

They had to dine on mouse.

The mother she had bore eighteen,

Of equal boys and girls,

Each one of their young little ones,

Had brown hair made of curls.

One reason that they were so poor

Was many mouths to feed,

They couldn’t give out sustenance,

Which all the children need.

When the kids all came downstairs,

The family gathered round,

The children knew what was to be,

They stood without a sound.

But before the father could

Anoint one for tonight,

One child grabbed a knife in hand,

“Not one of us you’ll bite.

Too long has this happened now,

To all of us children,

We want the wench, your wife, and you.

To teach you a lesson.”

The father he was quite upset,

Not she, not her, his gem,

Why not dine again on child?

Always been one of them.

“Please I beg you don’t do this,

There must be another way,

She is my life, my love, my all,

Just let us go away.”

“Shut your mouth, you fiendish man

You’ll get what you are due.

From these heinous acts you’ve done,

We have took our cue.

All these years we had no food,

You robbed us of our kin,

You made us dine upon their flesh,

That won’t happen again.”

“What other option did we have,

There was no other way.

We had to just do what we could,

If alive we’d want to stay.”

“Certainly that’s no excuse,

You’ve turned us black with hate,

Forgiveness you will not receive,

For what it is we ate.”

The children then encircled them,

The pair was froze with fear.

They gnashed their teeth and hissed at them,

The monsters that they rear’d.

The children armed with irony,

Got out the pots and pans,

They separated man and wife,

And firmly bound their hands.

Cleaver, knife, and hammer with

They struck repeatedly,

The couple’s guts were on the walls,

Rage, all they could see.

Carefully they prepped their meat,

They trimmed both fat and hair,

Then they dumped their dinner meal,

In pot and pan with care.

They feasted on their flesh all night,

Made ribs & steaks & stew,

Until their bellies full of man,

Meal of revenge was through.

Happiness flooded their hearts,

Their masters were now dead,

But wasn’t too long after that,

They knew they can’t stay fed.

There was no other food on hand,

No crops, no cows, no hope,

They even tried and tried and tried,

To eat some of the rope.

The leaders of these carnivores,

Now had to decide who,

Encircled their own plumpest one,

And in unison said,

“He’ll do.”




Ross Durrence resides in Atlanta and is currently in his third year at Georgia State University College of Law. He is a tortured Atlanta sports enthusiast and considers Franz Kafka his greatest literary influence. His work has appeared both in print and online in Slippery Elm, The Literary Yard, Winamop, and The Bactrian Room.

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