think you have right
on your side, try spending time with
a few of the
wrong people entirely, darling      ..

sitting in the pub
thinking of my wife at
home half past
four in the afternoon

writing a poem on the bus
and the elderly woman sitting next to me
says oh, is it about us

got you a lettuce
hope you like it
it’s as crisp and green
as an apple   ..

caught a fish in the pond
although it later transpired
it had every right to be there

got a kebab on the way home
could tell it was on the way home
it looked knackered

not having felt great for
ages one somewhat ..

threw it aside
thinking of course
a poem is never

as good as
it might have been,
though    ..

watched an old bloke on the train
struggle to open a packet
of sandwiches and offered him a hand
which he gratefully ate

apparently thought
is out of fashion is all
about how you feel

life can end
in a second, love
I’m just writing
a poem

city at night is like myself
as a child
afraid to turn off
the lights

she said
you must hate me
I said
you can’t make me      ..

want to inhale
the very scent of
of the city?
try the back seat
of a taxi     ..

there’s a few of us
going out tonight
if you’re interested

of course I am you
must tell me all about it
in the morning     ..

I want to read
my book
why are you
looking at me
like that ?

try writing about something
other than yourself
who actually cares?

remember when your foot sank in
the mud and you lost your
shoe and I laughed and you never
forgave me? alright, I’m sorry   ..

told as a boy if you cut a worm in half
half of it survives
but we’re not worms
boys just put down your knives

a girl in slacks
a cigarette
agape

a grape
aggrieved
relieved

and yet     ..

can’t sleep
and so I write

doubly cursed
am I at night

we are
not what
we were
we ever?

he bought
her a ring

but she
didn’t

things seldom
occur the way
one expects too much,
of course

the upstairs window
looks out across the city
a figure peers back    ..

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, a 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   ..