A young man astride a rocking horse.
His petticoats bristling. His eyes closed with pleasure
enjoying the euphony of his fork scraping his plate.

Facing him sits a filthy oldie shaking his dentures
like castanets. Whistling through his nostrils,
giggling with tears in his eyes.

The clattering of my teeth. Sometimes a coff, sometimes an achoo.

Heard a cry for help, but didn't pay attention.
Thought it was only myself as usual - the beldam of the bedlam.

A toothless hag moving eyeball-beads in an abacus.
They stare so, they stare so on her rope of pearls:
A row of Lilliputian skulls on a string.

The oldie chants the alphabet in an order he has fixed
himself. Once he strode down the aisle with a wedding
gown on an arm's length.

His bride-not-to-be (anymore) in the soil right outside.

The youngster tells about how he once lay in a bathtub
barely conscious in rusty-bloody-red water.

The bathtub tiptoed on lionpaws to the landing,
tipped over and flung him down the stairs on a rusty-bloody-red runner.

I'd like to tell them about a dragon with hiccups.
Hiccuping fire in headwind, burning itself. But I'd better not...