The Danish Play

To take the carrots off the gas

Or not to, that is the question;
Whether to boldly churn
In seething water that darkling carrot,
Tasty in its middle but deciduous in the
bud
And yet blackened by the hand of fate;
Or, as it were, favour the young breasted
Flirtatious carrots: oranger and more
erotic
That teem expectantly on the fringes of
the pan.
In a sudden lunge, I tamp back the
sulphur
Gas. I send Hydra sprinkling like a Liszt
piece
Onto and upon my carrots. Like
Shakespeare,
I struggle with prepositions.

Meanwhile in a tinkling susurration of

climax,
Hydra has flooded my kitchen with water
during the writing.
We ink to err, but carrots boil without a
stir!