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Humfrey Coningsby

by Jonathan Davidson

I had the boy drive.

A lonely road in Bohemia –


after the third fatality,

this one luckily only

a peasant woman,

I said to him simply:

my turn, and prised

his fingers from the wheel.

Can I open my eyes now,

Sir, he squeaked, half joking.


It was not as easy as it looked.

Bohemian roads are forever

running off into the forest

chasing wild boar and sprites.


We caught a few, sprites that is,

and it was their chirping

that put me off my guard.


The tree bowed courteously enough

and then hit me square

between the eyes.


Woke up later,

all quiet.




from Humfrey Coningsby (£6.99, £2.99 Kindle)

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