Scrabble

[just mercedes]

‘Do you want these waves
of diamides, Sire? It’s a basic
fact no one can savor them.’
 
‘He already outate me’
mutters the auditor of mohels
busy measuring his leg.
 
‘How many effs in effing?’
The questions nag.
He fingers a facial zit
 
flaring up, an expression
of ka, perhaps, a weber
of magnetic flux
 
in a health extension worker.
Nothing a jab of frog spawn
won’t fix, pus on a pinny
 
stored in the editor file
of artificial intelligence.
He calls for lox, bagels,
 
trout and matzo balls.
Instantly a jinn
delivers them.




(an attempt to 'find' a poem with the words used in my last game of Scrabble)