if being in fashion
means we might eventually
date
then no thanks

if you love just one
person all your adult life
does that excuse you for not
loving anybody else     ..

love what you wear
me down with

sand inside
my clothes
but oh
your hands    ..

difficulty in walking down the street,
I like it when a stranger gives me a smile
and if I don’t return it, it’s only because
it’s something I really need to hang on to    ..

you either see migrants as a
problem, or you don’t
depends where you’re coming from,
I guess

ruled by authoritarians
because you voted
for them I have nothing but hatred
but for you only pity

death is like gloves
hides all your fingerprints
who knows what
you touched   ..

the politics of brown sauce
on chips away at you
with a knife in your pocket
your pocket bleeds red

under threat of the bomb
we all sit at home, some thinking trump will
save the world, the rest of us thinking
he’s blown it     ..

she said you’re a
bit of a cold fish
I said which bit  ..

I have a wife
a child and possibly a friend
although I’m not too sure this morning I’ve
one hell of a hangover

rather write a recipe book
than another love poem after
love poem after love poem, but I’m
afraid I’m a rather poor cook

never did much good with my life
except reading and writing and loving
where this poem
might be going    ..

read a biography of herrick
it was pretty dull
whereas his poetry was
pretty beautiful

the best thing I ever wrote
down your phone number

perhaps we’re like fingerprints
unique
but without its effecting one’s everyday
existence we’re much the same
so to speak     ..

my wife has done wonders with
the garden
it looks more beautiful than ever
just by her being there

chap in the pub says
are you going on anywhere after?
I don’t know

turns out he wasn’t talking about death
but a party he’d heard about

cue embarrassed laughter

as I get older people
get fewer and fewer

they wore trilbys and overcoats
smoked all the time
and always voted labour
it was nineteen sixty nine

they were children in the second world war
they were my uncles
in woolwich south east london by then
in their thirties

they were worn, tired, always smiling,
great blokes

the older she gets the more
beautiful she looks at me growing
older too and gives a most
conspiratorial wink

café society meant
a bit of a natter
over a cup of tea -
we’re not french

the city grows bigger every year
I think maybe there are
too many restaurants

out walking
this evening
is grey

grey buildings
grey rain
bows

drained rows
of veins
flow

with
grey    ..  

out walking
this evening
is grey

grey clouds
in our eyes

and I smoke

telling lies
and you choke -
and the flies  ..!

out walking
this evening
is grey

the silence
    creaks
  with barrows
and feet
   depositing crates
  on the pavement

dried mushrooms
   black beans
           and chinese tea
  
inside the shop
     
  I smile at
the attractive 
     assistant       ..

met her
  in the gents of the red lion
didn’t say

anything of course
        I mean
   you don’t in the gents    ..

you’re not the man I married
          
        all those years ago, she said

we only met last night! he

    cried

        and clambered out of bed

flicking his ash on the floor, fairly
certain
that nobody saw

and the more that he flicked, the more
he was gripped
by the urge to flick a bit more     ..

isreal suffered terribly
and responded abominably
and as for russia     ..

never found that
travel broadens the
mind, I could

be wrong, but I
prefer to stay home
with a book

wondering whether or not to take
her umbrella
I said better not
she might be looking

he said he loved the anonymity of the
city
she said on the other hand it would be
quite nice
to know where we actually are

hey mister,
didn’t I see you
on the telly
last night?

well you look
like him,
if you don’t mind
me saying

hey mister,
what d’yer wanna go
around pretending
to be him for      ..

she did not
care what he
thought

nor I,
he replied,
I care not what I think,

I think
as I like   ..

he could not have imagined
how things would turn out
your
pockets, said
the store detective

they arranged to meet up later
on they wished they hadn’t   ..

do I hate the rascists
or the immigrants
I hate the rascists

love can’t be captured in a poem
but if the poem’s any good
it might be set free

anonymous, he disembarks
and heads
for any old london bar

and thinks, should I collapse
and die     ..
and drinks to each strange
passer by

when
she
leaves
fall

of course, looking on
the bright side can
ruin your eyes  ..

she said he should think
about looking at things a little
differently, so he closed one eye
in what she considered to be
a quite infuriating wink

arrived home and unlocked the door
which thanked me and quickly
disappeared

she’s says her love doesn’t come
with a loyalty card
so perhaps I’ll just shop around
for a while      ..

it either flows
or it don’t
and if it don’t
it ain’t going anywhere

picked up the phone
there was nobody there
so I took it

sent her a text trying to explain
but she said she didn’t get it
I said yeah, that’ll be the one

your dress
like waterfalls

you dislike
refugees in this country
is full of
****** racists       ..