Clive Frankenstein

Clive Frankenstein

Dr Frankenstein, I presume?
Pieced together from the tomb
The tower: lightning strike, then – BOOM!
You were alive

Out of death’s shadows chill you loom
Force the sweeping rush of your new broom
Bolt just visible in evening’s gloom
You were on the A5

Jobs for all includes those whom
Dr F will exhume
To road sweep as cars vroom
Will you arrive?

Dragged from graves to darkened room
So your lives of sorts could resume
Ripped from death’s sweet peace via Shelly’s womb
And she called you Clive

Earth no longer your playroom
A hell, a briar, crown of thorns; no bloom
You long for a chance to re-entomb
Meanwhile, you survive.