Poem - Bloody Fingers
Biserka reached for the knife
and we held our collective breath
stories of her temper legend
among the Bric a Brac
visions of filet fingers
this reunion perhaps a char-ade
to lure us to this deserted beach
Livelonger struggled to interpret her intentions
as he backed towards the door
the phone rang
in a flash Biserka was chatting cheerily to a neighbour
the moment passed
but on dark winter nights in an alternative world
the deathly quiet of the cottage is disturbed
the winter waves whisper
Dobar tek! Dobar tek!
and rows of bloody fingers march in formation
on the chopping board
desno lijevo desno lijevo desno lijevo
Dobar tek! Dobar tek! = Bon Appetit
desno lijevo desno lijevo desno lijevo = Right Left Right Left
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