Poems and Thoughts    by Frank Maurer

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A Haggis Repast. I dozed off to the pending news of our redundant politicians; Such continual anger against almost everything. I longed for a change-- something to put in my mouth. Oh, the last portion of my can of Scottish Haggis. Chopped into smaller portions, special oil poured thereupon. Heated to soften the Haggis and yield a bubbling oil. One of my last four eggs, held for a special occasion-- Eggs--the last--from my young hens-- Dog-murdered beside my house. Now almost imbibing the heated oil-soaked meat, I left it on my tongue to taste my Scottish heritage-- Washed down gently with not Scotch, but Saki-- A cosmopolitan repast at midnight. Frank Maurer 11 January 2025 0010 Hours.