“I have often travelled to Plempt,
Looking forward whenever I went,
I’ve had quite a go,
On the snow, don’t you know,
And consider it money well spent.”
The monstrous applause that followed left Oscar staring at nothing. There was a reluctant lessening when the D’dôdô-Sette readied to continue.
“I once had a meal in old Stlog,
In a restaurant surrounded by fog.
I had the odd chew,
Then began to spew,
And hurled it right back down the bog.”
Again, applause erupted like vomit. Oscar was keen to leave. If this was the calibre of poetry the Catacombs feared might fray the Assembly, then so brittle must their affability be, that they deserved to unravel altogether.
When another poem began, he cursed at having no ears to cover.
“A palatial city far away,
That by hardest effort soug
