The Sixty Second Scribe takes a look at the latest dead cat to be thrown on the dinner table, and while he recognises it for just what it is, he also considers that it might just serve a purpose. It’s difficult to say for sure, but even the supine nature of the British public must have a limit somewhere. Surely?
For more literary tiers poems, click here
You (yes you!) can buy books of my poetry from this very site.
