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Prickly Me In A Pickle

At my friend’s house over dinner
I emptied a pickle jar
My fickle buds relished infinitum
The tickle of sweet and sour
Didn’t suspect had a base of rum.

Soon the full moon appeared sickle
From forehead sweat dripped in trickle
It was fruitless to stickle
For beyond doubt I was pickled
I found prickly me in a pickle.

February 21, 2020

Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy