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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The man began to choke, I turned. He continued to chew and scoff and swallow As noises of another packet filled the carriage. I turned and shot beams of malice into his closing throat. I turned back. Ragged clothes, green spiked hair, scarred face - No. It was his fault: he reached for another packet! Eating and chewing and choking. It was all I could possibly hear. I dreamt of turning to him and standing, With a crystal helm hiding my face, And to reach out, if only to grasp his neck, Clutch the jaw and stop the chewing. Oh stop. Oh stop. Oh please. I would root through his throat Like a scalpel through cancer. I would claw and dig at the blockage Like the nails of a frightened mole. Oh how I would shout forever: ‘Stop’. How I would strike at his neck - Maybe his head too. My hand twitches. But after a dozen more minutes, And when it had really become enough for us all I would turn, not with glares but smiles instead (of course) And I would say: ‘Oh, dear friend. Could I aid you in removing that nasty blockade’? And he would laugh. And we would laugh. And the carriage would laugh. We would fill the whole universe with laughter. His breath would stink of smoke- Of course- but I would not care. For now he was not choking. Peace. At last. Instead, he is dead. No more choking, No laughter either. Relief, in short.
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