“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?

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  ..

she said I wonder
what you look like
without your glasses

he said I wonder
what you look like
without my glasses    ..

they say a time machine wouldn’t
be possible
but that’s *******
I’ve got a clock

this is where I live
I’d ask you in
but it’s a mess

I’m drunk
feel your

contempt
so not

quite drunk
enough     ..

when I was a kid I got a sixpence
a week for
pocket money, plus the beano
every
saturday
and then, suddenly, they
brought in decimalisation
and a sixpence no longer existed,
and I’ve worried about
money
ever since   ..

we rented a room
so cold we went to bed
with our clothes on,
but not for long

sitting at a pavement table
   of a turkish café
  near the gare de l’est

feel myself hunch
  like a dishevelled pigeon
over lunch, the waiter

asks for our order,
     naturally in french
and I ask “parlez vous anglais?”

     he enquires if we’re dutch,
               or quite possibly deutsch    ..
guess it doesn’t matter much

used to think I’d like
to get to know you,
but I don’t, anymore

people find me cold,
which is also
how they leave me

frightfully british but
also roman catholic
ate no meat on a friday
was always fish and chips

we’re both getting old,
but she still has dignity and desirability
and a demure sensuality and
all I have is a cough

don’t like restaurants
are full of people
who could have stayed
at home and cooked

your underwears me down
with it’s expectation of
fulfilment, but I’m just not in the mood
right now I’m reading

why call murderers butchers,
    when we get our lamb chops
from the butchers, and very nice they are, too
    few, those old shops   ..

the angry knocking
and the insistence
I open the door

couldn’t help wondering
what was behind it

a man of letters
who pens
upon
trivial matters in convivial inns
where his life is spent
almost invariably
in tatters       ..

love to walk alone
through the city
streets are not just for grown
ups a daisy!

alas
a loss
unless
undressed
the poor old
chap was loved
I guess
her curls
in swirls
around his chest       ..

ok so I’m alcohol dependent
you got a problem with that ?

he said I don’t know why
I ever went out with you ..
she said but you didn’t go out
with me, we just happened
to leave at the same time  ..

looking back
on our old haunts
me still    ..

we brush against each
other
than that there is
nothing  ..

as she closed the
door behind her
mind was made up

opened a bottle of scotch
“how’s that going to help?”
ever tried drinking this stuff
with the lid on    ..

people tend to comment on
the content or subject of a poem,
rather than the form or the style
it out, mate, style it out

a sunday roast
washed down with a pint
got back on the coach
and belched.
what more do you want     ..