ARE YOU OUT WITH THE DOGS?:

She holds a Gold phone to her ear,
Dressed in combats,
Gold braided hair like electric wire,

The ground beneath her feet is pockmarked with used gum,
A constellation of stars twinkle in a tarmac sky,

She arrives at her destination,
Plugged into a world beyond this,
Nails the colour of zinc,

Riding the down escalator in a red coat,
She holds a small undignified dog in her arms,
Exposing its belly & everything,

A small boy,
Eyes darting afraid,
Perches on his grandfather’s knee,
Clutching a tiny white sheep,

Cruel beauty leans against a wall in fake fur feeding,
Stabbing at the bottom of a cardboard tub with a plastic fork,
Wipes lips with a delicately extended finger,

(K)

HOME FROM HOME:

Drive into town,
Park the car in Dog Lane Carpark,
Walk the North bank of the river,
Swans call,
Seagulls call,
A cat,
A For Sale sign,
Flood barriers,
Summer houses & jetties on the West Bank,
A bifocalled woman at a cafe table,
Alone  in a freezing wind,
Looks up in shock,
Clutches a steaming mug,
Two fisted,
Walk under the bridge,
Stop to marvel at the Oak,
The rollers for horse harness pulling barges up river,
Early last Century,
No sign of decay,
Make them spin,
Squeak,
Marvel that they still work,
How different things were back then,
Dodge the cyclist in Lycra & bug-eye shades,
Riding pavements,
Oblivious King,
Read the names of water craft imbedded in the quayside,
South bank of the river,
Cut through the tannery into the park,
Call the names of plants about to bud,
Smell the first blossom,
Up the hill to High Street,
Marvel that buildings rotting in the 60’s are still standing,
How grand & beautiful they must have been in their day,
Georgian facades
Receiving the carriages of Gentlemen & Ladies,
Recount stories of weddings in the 50’s,
Laugh,
Savour the moment,
Hold onto it,
Place it in a pocket,
Never let it go,
Cut down Load Street,
Between the Church & the alley where the library used to be,
Note how many shops are abandoned since the last time you were here,
The shop where Mom worked,
Never lying to customers just to make a sale,
Never telling them something looked nice if it didn’t,
Earning respect & loyalty,
Everything is shut except a young busker,
Singing outside the Chocolate Box,
That closed to become the bank,
That closed to become offices,
Where a sky Blue Milk machine dispensed Strawberry Milk cartons,
1960,
The young busker dresses in memory of Teddy Boys that used to
terrorise town in the 50’s,
Singing Buddy Holly songs to no one,
Nice guitar,
A case open on the pavement,
A single coin,
A hot mug of tea to warm his fingers,
Looks dejected,
The museum shop is open,
Warm,
Go in,
Buy books on local history,
Searching for that illusive picture,
The house where Dad lived,
1940’s,
Asked by the nice lady with the soft American accent,
“Are you local?”
And when we ask she answers,
“Texas”

(K)

I REMEMBER EVERYTHING, BUT NOT QUITE:

The tables are in the wrong places,
Too many empty for a Saturday night,
The best curry house in town,
Always rammed,
I’ve never been here,
Something’s changed,

The waiters are tentative,
Should be striding, weaving & dancing,
Know the names of familiar faces,
The deserts are complimentary,
Alone in the window under helium balloons & streamers,
Untouched,

Women arrive without men,
Order Malibu & diet Coke,
The Men wear football shirts,
Shouting lists of indigenous birds across the room,
Radiant,
Bucolic Kings,
A little pissed,
Impatient,

The food is fabulous,
It’s why we came,
Filled to bursting,
One too many,
Spill into the night,
Stand clutching bills in the middle of the road,
Main road,
Main artery,
Silent as the gravy,
No car,
Nor sound,

Wary young studs watch,
Smoke in mute congregation,
Shiver in shadows at pub doors,
Shoulders hunched,
Knuckles deep as tree roots dug into pockets,

Street lights gorge themselves on darkness,
Silence eats sound,
Nothing moves,
Only the wind,
Blowing a curry fragrance through town.

(K)

CRUISING THE ISLES:

The sign says LOVE,
Crumpets drip in butter,

The sign says JOY,
A stack of pancakes drip in syrup,

The sign says HEALTHY,
A pot of yoghurt,

The sign says CHOICE,
Cheese, grapes & crackers,

The sign says STYLISH,
A stack of coloured cushions.

‘I Remember You‘

(K)

HOME IS HOME IS HOME IS:

A clock ticks on the wall,
Thock,
Thock,
Thock,
The second hand,
A healing sound,

Birdsong in the garden after dark,
The sound of a single car miles off,

A refrigerator humming high to it’s self in the kitchen,
The soles of shoes whispering on carpet,
A door opens,
Closes,
Opens,
Closes,

In another room a gas fire expels a comforting hiss,
Soothing,,
Sings to the TV remote,
Curtains parted,
No one outside to look since the 70’s,
When the street was full of kids
And bikes,
And balls,
And skipping,
And chalking on walls,

Across the valley a single street light,
Carving a Yellow hole in Black to push it’s head through,
Starless under India Ink,

Tonight,
Every night,
For as long as I can remember,
There’s a silence behind the silence,
Reaching to the stars,
In space no one can hear you,

The dim Amber lights of curtained windows,
Rectangles punched through Black,
No breeze in the garden,

Another car slips past,
Closer,
Breathes a single breath,
Is gone,
Following empty roads,
Black top snakes,
Sleeping one eye open under Yellow lights,

(K)

WHAT’S THE TIME MR. WOLF?:

Three Magpies dance on the roof,
Watching me wake,
Spreading the news,

Three fat Black crows strut around the garden,
Hands in pockets,
Cigars & stove pipe hats,

A Thrush stands guard at the door,
Watching me suit-up, coat & scarf,
Warns the others,

A Woodpecker hangs off a nut cage,
Swinging in a plum tree,
Frantic to eat everything before I ruin the party,

Today’s bin is heavy,
Stuffed with un-recyclable things,
Hurts my arm as I pull it out to the road,

The track to the Black stuff is strewn with clumps of clay,
The Deer Herd leaves it in it’s wake,
Crossing between fields under the cover of night,

A water bottle expires in the grass,
Flat & burst,
Opaque from exposure,

A Coke can conceals it’s self in a ditch,
Red & sassy,
Classic livery,

A Buzzard watches everything,
Misses nothing,
On top of it’s private telegraph pole,

The telegraph poles travel hand-in-hand in lines across the fields,
Branded with the dates & times,
Cocooned in Hawthorn,

The dates evoke memories I hurt myself reliving,
Following the scent of creosote across the fields,
Travelling back in time.

(K)

TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION:

When I wake up I text,
‘Be my valentine’,
Signed,’Anon’,

‘Be my Valerie?’
She replies,
With kisses,

Makes me laugh,
We laugh a lot in text,
Got to bring it into the real world.

Listening to Krokofant III

(K)

AT BEFORE BERLIN:

She’s gone to Berlin,
The cat’s been fed,
The dishwasher’s on,
Breakfast on the table,

The sun is watching me,
Low in the sky,
Blinking dazed through gossamer,
As I shiver & wave,
As she drives away,

Could be a desert sand storm coming,
Could be the start of a heatwave,
Could be anywhere in the world I’ve been,
Groaning,
“Turn down the heat!”

But it’s not,
It’s Essex,
Misty,
And crisp,
And cold,
And damp,
And windy,
And fabulous,

As she climbs into the sky,
On her way to Berlin,
She reaches out with love
Tears a hole in the clouds for us,
And the sun comes streaming in.

(K)

MARK AS UNREAD:

Essex out of character,
Is unusually dower,
As I step off the train into a bitter wind,

The voice on the phone is struggling,
Going down the rabbit hole,
In a Birmingham state of mind circa ’73,

From screen to page,
From mouth to ear,
Satchmo singing ‘Summertime’

Too many flats,
Too many sharps,
Too many people without names.

(K)

COSMIC RAY:

In Dad’s shed,
I feel the heat.

(K)