An on-line debate,

normally one to steer clear of

as the night time air

stirs the blood

with condescension

and free-range consumption,

but one as a son of Cornwall

I could not resist

as they played the game

of Scone or Scone,

sunken ships and enemy fire pound the wary feet

as they find no sense

of who’s right

and who is right,

my tuppence worth thrown in

like a hand grenade

with a long pause and no casual victim

to report of tasty white cells

dripping slowly down the side

of succulent strawberry lead shot;

I wrote and waited,

It is pronounced Scone

(as in bone) whilst it is tempting you on the plate,

but the moment you eat it,

the moment that all is left is the dying

and the neglected heroes of crumbs,

then you can honestly say

it’s Scone (it’s gone).

 

Ian D. Hall 2018