JOLLY GOOD SHOW

All day
stuck up this ****** tree

in the middle of ****** nowhere.

All the landscape
shrunk to this crossroads

like the cross-hairs
on a rifle sight

brings the distance
into focus.

“****** Nora! ”
He swears to himself and laughs.

His mother’s name was Nora.

Always thought it was hilarious
to swear by her.

Remembers one time as a boy
swearing at her:

“And eh by gum
she didn’t half hit me hard! ”

“Blood seeping through the gum
still taste the taste of it on my tongue
****** ‘orrible it was!

Hated her ever since.”

“Now, look whatcha made me done! ”
she hollered at him.

“Yes…sorry our Mum! ”

He didn’t dare cry
‘cos she’d hit for crying!

“She was a hard one…our Mum!
Had to be with us ****** lot!

She were fun though when she were happy! ”

He hoped to God
that his man would come

so he could **** him
and be done.

Didn’t know him
from Adam

(leader of the insurgents
capable of getting men around him) .

“Dangerously charismatic! ”

Better dead
to keep the British peace alive

as the Empire lay dying.

The sun setting
dying him a golden brown.

“If he don’t come soon
I won’t have the light to **** him.”

“Remembering shooting game with our Dad
rabbit…pheasant...up ‘eath in sunlight

. . .such as this.”

The dangly ****** rabbit
turning into next night’s stew

eating a celebration
of what you can do

- do well...****.

How he came to be here
up a ****** gum tree

rifle in hand…staring
waiting for a man to ****.

Same ****** thing.
Simple ****** plan!

Waiting 3 days now
and no man.

“Keep your position ...over.”
“Maintain radio silence.”

“Report in when job done.”
“Roger ok that...over & out.”

“Eager to get job done so I can go ****** ‘ome!”

“Didn’t believe it myself
until I seed it! ”

Dot in the distance
translating itself into a man.

Just enough light left
for killing.

“And now, put out the light
...put out the light! ”

He muttered to himself.

****** Othello!
The only Shakespeare he knew.

“A lass I once knew
A real brain & chatter box! ”

“I only ever wanted to get into her knickers
& the only way to do so was to listen…so I listened.”

“Trying to teach ****** me Proper English
and she ****** well Scottish!

****** cheek!
...och aye...but nooo! ”

The crossroads funnel him into
the killing spot

“Trot trot trot trot!
like THE HIGHWAYMAN!

Noyes! No...yes!

Why think of
Marjorie Wallace and her ****** poetry now!

No poetry in killing
just plain ****** prose.

Dead is dead is dead.

A blown rose
fading on the periphery of his vision.

The cross-hairs
come to rest

like a deadly spider
on the rider’s face.

He’s ****** grinning.

The man doesn’t even know
he’s already dead!

Won’t even know what’***** him!

(Probably thinking of a sweetheart
and getting her into ****** bed)

Just like I am.

Just the gentlest of squeezes

like stroking a lassie’s ****
(Oh Marjorie ****** Wallace!)

Then - that’s it!
The rifle spits and speaks

in the language of the dead

and only one man understands
what’s said.

And where there was a head
there is now no head.

You see it only
for the briefest of seconds

and can’t really believe it!
How the head blossoms!

Like a sudden flower
and then fades

in that
instant.

Mindless now...

he plucks the faded rose
(or whatever it is it’s called around here)

reminds him of
England.

Pops it into
an amo pocket.

Good clean ****.
Head shot – one shot.

Tries to pretend...
but it always hits him hard

taking a closer look
at his handiwork.

Kicks the body:
“You poor stupid ****** ******! ”

“A man no less a man
than I am...”

Faceless.

Lying there in the dirt
as he were only having a kip.

Becoming dirt.

Breaks radio silence:
“Come and ****** well pick me up! ”

“Jolly well done! ”
The radio cackles back.

“Jolly good show! ”

*

Brian was the gentlest and nicest man...he had a great sense of humour and always greeted me with a big sweary hello. He was always delighted to see me and I him. He was a delight to be with. I knew he had been in the army but didn't know the where and when of it. One evening as we sat in his room with the sun bathing us in gold he suddenly came out with all of this...inside this lovely man was the practical let's-get-on-with-it killer....a job to be done no more. I've tried to keep his voice and his telling and the sense of self...letting him tell the story as he did that day without any comment.

You’re the reason every song turns into a requiem.
Even the happy ones bend under the weight of your name.

The reason love walks with a blade behind its back,
because you turned it into something I had to survive.

You’re the reason
breathing feels borrowed.
Like I’m stuck in a waiting room
with no doors,
no answers,
just clocks that won’t tick
and memories that don’t know how to leave.

You’re the reason I bleed into pages,
why I stretch sorrow into sentences,
why I carve light
from the ruins.

You taught me grief in its native language,
how to cradle absence like a relic,
how to shape silence into meaning.

You’re the reason I learned to carry longing
instead of trying to cure it.
To live inside the hollow
and still find warmth.

You’re the reason I know
that love and loss
can belong to the same moment.

You are my reason.
The one that never left.

I do not know your name—
only your silhouette
etched in the echo of things I was not given.
Your absence was my alphabet.
I spelled every woman with your ghost.


They loved me.
But I loved you through them.
Your hands behind their voices.
Your eyes haunting their praise.
They were flesh, and I was kneeling.


I made gods of strangers.
I made homes of hunger.


Mother—not mother.
Lover—not lover.
I could not hold the difference.
They all became symbols
and I became a shrinekeeper,
tending lies with tenderness.


Forgive me,
those I touched but never saw.
I was trying to reach through you
and forgot you were not them.
And they were not you.
None of you asked for this altar.


I am dismantling the myth.
I am returning the light.

Here is where we dare to start
Throwing rocks at passing cars
Burn the whole place to the ground
In peaceful protests throughout town

Carry signs, scream and spit
Looking for that TikTok hit
Forcing fascists to see our side
Hoping they don't make us cry

Stand up for our right to be
Sitting on the wrong side of history
Start our days with blind outrage
Keep our minds inside a cage

Buying everything they sell
From the bargain basement pits of Hell
Told half-truths to bold faced lies
We'll sit back as they decide

How to best use us next
In the stirring up of social unrest
Peacefully burning it to the ground
Coming soon to your town

I'm in here and you're out there
Looking for someone who cares
Having searched most everywhere
Have I mentioned I'm right here

Why would you leave where you were
Hoping for a shooting star
Wishing there was something more
That you wish you could wish for

When it's clear I am here
With you on the hunt out there
In desperate need of someone who cares
Have I mentioned that I'm right here

Come and weep,
Silently, tears will guide you to sleep,
As your lover comes to know,
The grave of water's undertow.
Another claimed,
In the name of explorer's fame,
A name, that once you pass on,
Will be all but gone.
Not a soul has ever carried it as close,
As you have for so long.

Don't be foolish,
Staring at the sea,
He is truly gone,

Even when the fleet comes rolling in,
You won't have that kiss at dawn,
He promised you as he left.
So hang your lonesome head,
The worst is yet to come,
Fill his grave with sea things,
It's all that's left of him anymore.
Your life together,
Now ancient lore,
Lock it up,
Before you wake up.