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meet the parents.

have you seen the sphinx ?

she beckons -

 

it's at the bottom of the garden

in a rabbit hutch

behind the sofa

  and would you like a Rusty Nail ?

 

as father eyes me up

like a trophy that just might

end up on the wall,

picking his teeth, studiously.

 

Only another hour

Chlamydia murmurs,

squeezing my hand with her

Bhopal-gifted plastic fingers.

 

One down, fifty nine to go

shouts her teenage brother

tearing past –

acne in hot pursuit.