"Kvasir's Guide to the Galaxy"

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Aboard the Vogon ship,
Ford Prefect
hands out towels
to Arthur Dent
and Kvasir the Wise.

“I cannot use towels,”
says Kvasir.
“For I am made of spit.”

“Er . . . what?”
says Arthur.

Ford retrieves
Kvasir’s towel.
“Space travel,”
he warns the others,
“is unpleasantly like being drunk.”

“Like being
murdered
by dwarves,
having your bodily fluids
drained
into a cask,
honeyed
into a fine mead,
poured
into mugs,
passed around and
consumed?
That kind of being drunk?”
asks Kvasir.

Ford ponders.
“Yes.”

“I am comfortable with that.”

“Er . . . what?”
says Arthur
as the universe
turns inside-out.

Greg R. Fishbone
June 2020