In reply
To the butcher’s
Question about how
Much lamb to cut,
The village
Priest raised his
Pudgy right
Hand high, as if getting
Ready to bring an imaginary
Cleaver down
To halve that fantastic
Looking carcass hanging up-
Side down
In front of him,
When he was cut
Short at the apex
By the first peal
Of lugubrious church
Bells prompting him
To blurt out—“Oops,
In that case, let’s go
Whole hog with it,”
As he followed through with his
Stroke of good luck
In one deliciously executed
Priceless swoop.
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