Hannibal The Cannibal Poem by Phil Soar

Heads lay on the kitchen table
Eyeballs all around
And seeing all the pots and pans
They never made a sound

Arms and legs were everywhere
And toes were diced and split
Lots of knees and spots all squeezed
And mixed a little bit

The menu was classed as a la carte
And prices were astronomical
And the dessert was a sweetened tart
With a filling of abdominal

When Hannibal cooked, then no-one looked
If you wanted to keep your head
As he served his courses with a plomb
And a round of buttered bread