You might say the joke about the banana(he wasn’t peeling well)was train station rhetoric.
You might thinkthat Bonnie the landladyand the story of the misplaced pensionsounds like a B-grade movienot worth…
A tiny man stands at a tiny lectern and looks out two tiny windows. On his platform atop a tight spiral staircase he waits for the fog to subside. It’s time.
He clears his throat and speaks into the oversized microphone suspended from the domed ceiling.
When my grandma crawled up the stairsshe explained it simply.This bit’s tricky, she said,I crawl up like a baby.
The words became wedged in my chest.An uncomfortable lumpof christmas pudding and shortbread…
I was having a bad time.
I say bad,not because I’m a rubbish poet (although I am)but because when you’re really havinga bad time,it’s easier to just say badthan it is to explain whatever the chemicalslop inside your head is manifesting as today.
I start work again in 2 days,and I’m sitting here,in the worst bar I could find,writing a fucking poem.
Turbulence overcomes the plane,And the children laugh.
As their parents grip the handrests,They giggle.
The cabin crew look around reassuringly,As one hundred sweaty fingers are linked,And we all…
There is a secret church. It promises bliss, immortality, a voluptuous woman to feed you grapes from God’s personal stash — the usual religious nonsense — but only if you adhere to a single rule: Whenever you’re in a narrow alleyway, or on an escalator, or on a busy path you must walk slowly…
Gardening is not for me, I thought,Imagine being a servant to a plant -Hungry, thirsty, dry, wet,Boring.
