The true ally
Will probably be
Well-prepared
This calendar year.
Take heed my son
And stand in line.
Any real non-believer
Can decide to coat
Their colours
On masts.
Follow t-shirts
In the summertime,
The flap
Of postered doorways
And the winds
That cycle forever.
Stay in tune
With the pulse
Of a full moon,
And keep your shutters
Half closed like
The glorious
Has-been alliance.
We are safer
Now the laundry’s done,
And it hangs
In neutral shades.
I would prefer
To thank you
For the efforts
You’ve created.
I am heading
For exactly the same
A-road junction
As you,
The traffic has died
And these aren’t bunkers
They’re ditches,
Our futures are calling.
There’s nothing
In the distance,
Times are changing
And
Your fanciful
Capabilities
Have prompted me
To change my life
Forever.
A small tub
Of onions
In an empty
Front room.
The sound
Of seven geese,
Football rattles
And screaming.
We lost it all
In an instant,
And found it again
All perfect,
Apart from the melting.
The dark clouds parted
A hundred smiles brought the sun
The heavens stood strong,
Romance ushered joy
Sweet songs and poetry shone
And we were all one
All doubting days gone,
Love in excelsior.
This wet whistle,
This longing,
This hope I’ve been breeding
On park benches
And porch steps
Will keep me from
Violence.
Flat
Like boiled blood,
Feeding off silence,
Subsidence,
Compliance.
Too soon
Is the long gone,
Cracked pavements
And bruised feet,
The sandwich
At midnight
And whispers
Unique.
It’s 1970
On the stereo,
Defeat
Is a blessing,
A salad-less dressing,
Disguised
With a question
In style.
Slacker Shack