I was told Ronnie and Reggie used to start
from the feet and work their way up,
bulges rising in their matching trousers,

how they took such care not to splash
their suits, their matt black shoes,
as they mixed and shovelled, as they thundered

wet stones and sand over ankles, legs and chest,
arms and neck. I was told how their victim’s
cries were drowned by the larger mouth,

its heavy tongue slopping round and round,
as the twins sculpted the man’s hair
(grey overnight) to a perfect quiff –

just like Ronnie’s. Was told how they set
each eye, the colour of steel, how they funnelled
liquid concrete, the steady porridge of it,

into a throat, like an Aztec pouring
molten gold down a gullet;
a farmer force-feeding a duck.