STW ( / 52° 27' N / 9° 41' E)

Glass Houses

It was a glorious day in Padstow;
A real seaside bucket and spade day.
We strolled the little Cornish port in sunshine,
Wifey and girls in search of arty bargains
Me, amused by fat lady postcards.

“We’re just popping in here”, they said
“Where will you be? ”, wifey asked In that,
“we don’t want you hanging around yawning
while we shop for girly stuff”, type way.
Me? , I reply innocently,
Me? , I’ll just take a look at the boats.

“Biggest ever “ and “buy one, get one free”,
The Cornish pasty shop sign teased.
“A super jumbo gut filler please”, I said,
lowering my head in shame.

So that I hadn’t lied,
I made my way to the harbour.
Sitting on a bench, I unwrapped the paper
and exposed the full meaty magnificence of that
Beautiful creation.
Mouth watering,
I could smell that savoury, oniony deliciousness.


A screech,
a flurry of grey and white, and then pain.
Blood poured from my now empty hand and,
Jonathon Livingston bloody seagull,
flying heavy and low, disappeared with my pasty.
I swear I heard a voice from above say,
“People in glass houses….Fat boy,
people in glass houses”

by Sailing to windward

Comments (3)

Quite a story! Another slant on pie in the sky. lol
This piece is fantastic and true to life 10/10
You're just acheived one of Ez's main ambitions: to write a poem about pie. :) t x