For J Fergus Evans
'Mr Interrobang?!' the children exclaimed
as he burst from their teacher
in a cascade of ichor and mince.
In fact, Ms Clements had just been a larval stage;
the useless skin now sloughed off
like a wet duffel coat.
'Bonsoir!' he said, and doffed his top hat
to reveal a tiny version of himself
standing in a tiny puddle of innards
atop his head, also doffing a top hat,
which in turn exposed a flea-sized replica,
and presumably so on, and so on,
like a fractal scream.
He pulled a clump of sweets from his waistcoat pocket,
held together with clotted blood.
'Now,' he said, licking his whiskers,
'who'd like a gumdrop?'
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