alright I’m the worst poet you’ve
ever read
I mean what do you want
me to say ?

a small bird sings
in the wind in the
trees in the wind
a small bird sings

drizzle at the
bar grey
as muzzy
print

from your
morning paper
droplets of
ink

hid a poem in a tree in
the woods
but they cut it down
to just a couple of words

quite like the calm appraisal
historians bring to the past
supplying a little distance
to that which is actually vast  ..

what do I want played
at my funeral?
charades

I’d willingly take you
into my confidence
if I had any

suggested a picnic
she said good idea
I’ll make the sandwiches
I said no, let them
decide for themselves

only ever known two women whose
feet I found attractive
and one I married -
don’t know what happened to the
other three     ..

she’s always saying that I live
in the past
well yes, it is the only place I’ve lived
apart from now  ..

the american poet I most admire
is dorothy parker,
a drinker, a poet, a cynic, a writer
and **** it, I like her!

the second hand bookshop has gone
and whilst I may have mislaid the odd
book or two, an whole shopful?

this was the very street
choc a bloc full of tightly pressed covers on
the shelves

wherein sad old men with aching feet
would often find ourselves

you were crying and shaking as you tried
to explain you’d spent the night
with somebody else
well, as long as he makes you happy    ..

I’m going away
for a while he
thought she’d
be ok about it  ..

called the waiter over
for the bill
he said what about coffee
I said thanks
but I don’t even know you     ..

apparently relationships
have to be worked at, we laughed    ..

where were you last night?
I can’t recall
and you expect me to believe that?
not at all  ..

writing a novel
you know what that’s like?
it’s like a story that no one’s
ever written before
yeah, I’m making it up  ..

they remained silent
over dinner, the gravy especially was
best not mentioned again

wrote a poem on the train
got a fine
and they made me
wash it off

so what if I talk to myself
when I’m alone and
how the hell do you know  ..

she used to complain
that she never knew
what he was thinking

he said I hear what
you’re saying, but isn’t
that rather the point?

turned up at her door
     with a bottle of gin
  so what is that for ?
oh, it’s just a way in ..

she says last night was a bad
    idea
well in that case thank goodness
   it’s over
he says
    and yet, she says, you’re still here      ..

don’t like coffee much
prefer tea
       and yet people are always saying
          we should meet up for coffee
    and I profoundly disagree   ..

“I’ve had enough,” you
said, pushing away your plate,
but looking at me     ..

his phone rings
she says why don’t you answer it
he says it hasn’t said
anything yet     ..

see my poems as
just notes on the poems
I would like
to write but don’t

for once, think of somebody else
so he did
she didn’t like it

they used to love each
other things happened  ..

went into the second hand bookshop
I said hi, what’s new?

angrily get out of bed
saying you’ve had enough!
which for me was a first

poured myself a drink
what about me?
you can pour me the
next one  ..

used to walk around
the city at night
with nothing on my feet
except myself

city becomes us ill
and buildings rise and fall
in laboured breath

dylan thomas died from the drink
but that’s not what you think of
when you read his poems you think of caitlin,
swansea and soho and yeah, ok, pubs  ..

is the mousetrap still running
at the theatre, is there a donkey sanctuary
in st pauls
is there still the thames, the thames!
is this then how poetry
goes

that you keep on giving me
your opinion suggests you don’t want
it, either

wanted
to cry
but there’s people looking

worse off
than I

want to
play
by myself
today

how long
has it
been
up to much
lately?

she knew it was over
he hadn’t been home for days
why don’t you go home
she says   ..

suppose if I ever came
up with a really
memorable poem I wouldn’t
have to write it down

got a couple of tickets for
the theatre if you’d
like to go? yes I would, actually.
goodbye

she says these poems are
****, but what if she’s right   ..

my wife gets annoyed
I don’t know why
but best just apologise

lived in lewisham for a while
it was alright  
but then she grew bored and I grew
bored with her growing bored
and staying out all night
and south east london ain’t the end of the
world

only writing because
like bukowski said
only if you have to
will it be any good

people often say “less”
when they mean “fewer” -
it’s not important, I
guess, it’s just grammar    ..

wanted to knock on his door
and ask him to come out to play
but what if his dad answered
and what if he said, oh ok  ..