Poem: Invasion of the Killer Toothpicks

"Toothpick, Dick?"
"No thank you Sally."
At that time they were happy, unaware.
"Japanese toothpick?"
"Sally, I SAID NO TOOTHPICKS!"

the toothpicks were on their way home from the movies.
the toothpicks were french.
their extension was 3482.

these toothpicks didn't want to go to a bar.
they rather fancied the party at flat 23.

There wasn't much noise as they travelled,
I guess they slid noiselessly along.

They didn't knock either,
upon arrival at number 23,
they simply "entered."

the keyhole,
the letterbox,
the crack under the door.

"Hello, what's for fun around here?"
thats what the toothpicks said, all 109 of them.
they were songwriters and
day-care workers mostly.

"None of them limped,"
is what Dick told the cops.

"Toothpick forays are increasingly common in single-parent homes."
The cops quoted useless statistics
and massaged Sally's bum.

cops arrived to carnage at the scene.
olive martinis overturned,
cocktail weiners poked and burned.

it ruined their marriage when
tiny timber settled the score.
a chilling momento
scrawled in dip upon the door:
'Oui, oui, pas de fete ici.'
a message from the toothpicks
to the popsicle sticks.