Thomas Ward has been published in Alliterati and on Drunk Monkeys and at the moment he awaits feeback on his first novel. As well as writing he likes to travel, play music, watch films and fantasise about fighting sharks and the inevitable zombie apocalypse. He has a tumblr at
www.renegadeviper.tumblr.com. Check out his grotesque, darkly funny poem below - especially if you're a fan of Roald Dahl - but brace yourself first...
A Holiday Gift
She handed me a gift as she stepped off the train today,
and said ‘O darling how I’ve missed you!’ don’t open it until we’re away
I said ‘me too!’ and ripped it open at the station,
Full of excitement and anticipation
What ever could it be? And my imagination ran wildly,
A hat, a scarf, a painting of her and me? But in fact the texture was more like jelly
I looked at my gift and had a little think,
it looked back at me and gave a little wink
It wasn’t expected but then neither was she,
This wife of mine, always playing tricks on me
I laughed and cried ‘haha very funny!’
But when I touched one it felt rather gummy
I felt a shiver and stopped where I stood
‘Oh darling I found them out in the wood, thought of you and polished them good!
It wasn’t wine, shoes or cologne,
A bag of eyeballs is what she’d brought home
‘O darling thank you, what luck!
You shouldn’t have, no, it’s too much!
I only brought you a bouquet of flowers
And you’ve brought me a man half devoured!’
‘A woman’ said she and I felt a shiver
It started in my stomach and crept past my liver,
‘Anne helped me find them, isn’t that a surprise’
Anne was my secretary, with silky smooth thighs
‘Yes I invited her along,
What a lovely girl, I thought we could bond!
It was all going well, we had a terrific week,
The only thing that ruined it is that she talks in her sleep’
The station stood still and colours began to swirl,
I looked around, where was this other girl?
‘Anne stayed there?’ I asked timidly
My wife smiled, shook her head and nodded at me
‘She helped me find your gift, she’s got such sharp eyes!
Sparkly and green like emeralds in disguise!’
I looked at the bag and Anne looked back at me,
I imagined her body buried under a tree
Slugs and flies in the hollows of her eyes
All because I’d ran mine up her thighs
I tried to calm myself and get a handle,
‘Splendid my dear, we’ll put them on the mantle!’
‘Oh splendid!’ she said and my shoulder felt her head
We walked arm in arm and in my hand something dead
‘I’ve missed you so much my dear little Fred,
Next year, won’t you come with me instead?’
Thomas Ward
