Generations

random selection
spins combination lock –
big crab claws

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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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.

Rules of the Bag Lady

Oil and water don’t
need separate bags
not like a dead badger.

And a prawn sandwich.

Those don’t mix well.

They don’t tell.

How to bag up
your things right.

You have to learn
who’s good company.

To live on my street.

Outside your home,
a hungry fool is
just another stiff.

Dead body wearing
my new dry shoes.

Keep Fit

manicured lawn –
seagulls dance on the heads
of juicy worms

Multiverse

From the bottom of the garden
with my head tipped right over,
it seems like the yard is vertical.

There’s this theory that for every
choice in life you didn’t take there
is another universe where you did.

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The Last Mile

wise feet know their path
through threadbare carpets –
last sip of hot tea

Holding Back

I do not dream of working naked,
of sporting prowess or having super powers.
Nor do I wake from falling downwards,
from ghoulish monsters or daemonic hatred.
I wish for but one most simple pleasure;
that I might take a walk upon the sands,
bolstered by the cooling onshore breeze,
my dogs running circles against the sea.
My want is but to be as free as them,
to cross my path and speed right on,
instead of tripping in its rutted depth,
cut by dampened chain and morbid anchor.