As I walked down Brighton Pier
Bathed in summer light
Munching on a candy floss
Squinting in the bright
I saw a fortune teller's sign
Lurking in the gloom
Signposting 'Madam Lucky Rose'
Dealing tarot in a room.
The gaudy gypsy painting
Lured this wanderer in
And as I ventured nearer
I caught the tang of gin.
"Hallo there" came a cracking voice
"Come in" I heard a shout
So I entered through a curtain made
To keep bluebottles out.
Twenty pounds she wanted,
To tell me of my fate,
I felt just like the Thane Macbeth,
But Jim not Banquo was my mate.
Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,
I expected her to say,
But she was busy with her visa machine,
And she wanted me to pay.
We placed our bums on old oil drums,
She'd covered in velour,
And she'd tacked a piece of curtain up,
To form a make shift door.
With trembling hands she took mine,
And looked into my eyes,
Her eyes were rimmed with charcoal grey,
And I expected fraud and lies.
She told me of my future,
She told me of my past,
She told me I'd get married and
That it would never last.
She draped around my shoulders
A cloak of purple hue,
And whispered of a new career as fortune tellers do,
"The curse is broken!" she exclaimed
I strained with all my will,
But she left me there that summer day,
And in Brighton I lurk still.

When I was a little girl I often went walking with my dad.
He was going to the shop to buy his beer
that was sold in a can with a picture of a ******* clad lady on the front.
We walked down a long, dark hill to get there that was punctuated with street lights.
Dad had to choose between
Diana,
Monica,
Megan,
Candy,
Margaret or
Rosie.
All had bikinis stretched tight over absurd curves and shook their perms like manes.
On the way home I stopped under every light
because his grip on my hand didn't feel quite so tight.

It has always been a noted thing
That poets are quite mad
And often wildly happy
And often bleakly sad.
They feel things more than most you see
Starving hunger and parched thirst,
Tormented by their worm filled minds
Giddy bests and plunging worsts.
It helps me with my job I guess,
I find it natural not hard,
Oh happy birthday Auntie.
This is weird in a card.

I once bought a life size cut out of John Cena.
I have no idea why. It was 3am and I was drunk.
When it arrived my children were overjoyed and took lots of photographs of themselves doing
Tombstones
Swanton bombs
Stone Cold Stunners
Sweet Chin Music
RKOs
Razors
Piledrivers
Rock Bottoms and
Flying Elbows.
I didn't. I couldn't see him.

White light.
Beams blazing like lazers as the blind slightly shifts and back
Back to darkness.
Again. White light. Black. White light. Black.
Blindness and blindness and light and black.
Back and forth.
Tap. Tap. Tap.

The End.

So sod it. We're off to the pub.
The Mrs is putting on lipstick,
The collar is getting a scrub.
I'm all ready to distance
But there is a problem you see?
This two metres malarkey?
British feet and inches for me!
I'll sit at my usual table
And stare at my usual wall
But I'm proud to flick fingers to 'rona
Cos like Boris I've done ****** all.