He needs watching, that Sethaliss,
so that’s what I do.
Lurking in the shadows of the funeral
parlour (I’m his chief undertaker),
keeping my wicked eye on everything
he does. Dressing up in red robes of
silk like his trained Assassins, just
to annoy him. Maybe it’s a perverted
type of pleasure, riling Sethaliss.
Like goading the devil when he’s fast
asleep; when he doesn’t even know I’m
doing it, because he’s too busy
preening that ridiculous vanity of
his in the mirror.
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Illustrations by Alan Graham,
Section D Copyright ©2017