Bubble Burster

I am a bubble burster,
my finger pointed into you.
Quiet talk of you and others,
pushes you from who to whom.
I grasp your tail with white fists
and snap it out into a thread
grown fainter, longer. Weak.

You, a dry and whetted wick,
fuel evaporated in radiant smiles,
rest, cupped by my soft hand.
Held upright with a kind word
I restore your normal body
with the magic of faint praise.
I am bigger, deeper. Strong.

Yet, stood; alone, tuneless
fluorescent lights cast me down.
I shrink into a hollow star,
my five shadows crouching,
each devouring its share.
Their backs turned to me
grown fainter, longer. Weak.

HobNobs

biscuit divided
oat crunch and hot coffee –
one hundred push-ups

Generations

random selection
spins combination lock –
big crab claws

Journey

white cell rocket
burns red platelet soup –
motorcycling

Front Window

lawn littered
by fat leg’ed witless oaf –
depression lingers

My Perfect Plane

i.
I walk right into his experiment
after pouring my first beverage.
Some young bright patterned tie
rushes across to form a queue.
I rest the cup on the counter-top.
He smiles and says “take for both”
I outwardly thank his strangeness
but I baulk inwardly, weary from
the effort of accepting without
paying the price he seeks. The coffee
is bitter with gall; barely drinkable
even in my favourite window
seat overlooking the plaza.

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Breakfast

steaming hides abound –
tractors speed deafeningly fast
clutching breakfast

Where’s the Beef?

Town living is a blessing.
I can walk almost everywhere;
the shops, chemist and to bingo.
But a house right on the
High Street is not without issues.

It’s dark, it’s after ten PM
and my door bell rings.
Local kids are bored again.
Playing “knock and run”.
But without any actual running.

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Starfish

starfish wrestling –
waves clinking at bared feet
soothing pebble sores

Feek Stink

Mostly a sock is much the same as the next.
Designers agonise over shades and logos
for a tube to keep stench off your boots.

Posh shops know this and wrap them well.
Each sock cosseted in tissue and branded silk,
inside a solid shiny box tied with a bright ribbon.

The quality of these socks is only perceived.
They won’t last as long or stop your new shoes
blistering your ankle; you’ve paid for packaging.

A person is a bag of bodily functions, attitudes
and ape imprinting with feet that stink up shoes.
A pretty ribbon is rarely worth the higher price.