by | Jul 24, 2006 | Poetry | 0 comments

“You are Emanuel Nailmaker the Seventeenth?”

“Yus!” Sniffs and then spits on the floor and clatters his teeth.

“You make … nails … What are nails?”

“Nailing. Nails ain’t they. Nail-nails!!”

“For what purpose are they?”

Sighs, spits, clatters, “You see them trees,
well, thems bits of things, see,
and I puts thems that be
with thems that ain’t and nail…”

“But what are all the nails for?”

“That’s what you’ve got a hammaphore,
and semaphore, and a metaphore.”

“I am from MoT: TRADERS,
and I wish to know:-
will be used for?
Perhaps, some pails?”

“I’ve got to nail a man to a door
for Charity – ”


“For the Market Traders;
all proceeds go to the top Temple.”

“Is he MoT’d? You can’t use a door –
definitely, you cannot use a door;
besides, it is not in the warranty:
doors are for blocking the holes in the walls.”

“But we haven’t got anything else…”

“You cannot use a door. No, not at all,
have you nothing else that could be used?”

“We want to have a solid construction…”

“I am sorry, but, absolutely, no doors.”

“We’ve got two spars left over
from the last ferry from Memphis?”

“They’ll do. You can use them;
but the final construction
will have to be MoT’d.”


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