I rap smartly
on the lid of her coffin
and repeat my question:
'Mother? I can't find my Lego
and I've a gite to build by Wednesday.
Where on Earth did you move it to?
Sixty buckets!' I am becoming shrill.
'Colour coded! But oh no,
you said I needed to get a "real job".
Well who's got the last laugh now, eh?
Who's chortling today, you
dead, dead, dead, dead
WHORE!' my fist punching through
the coffin lid, black bricks scattering
across the church floor.
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