We had to camp out in the woods
my deputy and I, on duty
at the last Town Music Festival
and as we lay down
I said to my deputy:
"Deputy, tell me what you see"

And my deputy described the stars
and the moon and the heavens
with infectious passion and poetic intensity;
and the deputy spoke with feeling
of soaring heights and sublime elation -
and then with a triumphant air
he turned to me: "Now it's your turn,
Sheriff - tell me what you see"

And I said: *"Someone, deputy,
has stolen our tent..."

For sure the woman
killed her husband -
she served him hot soup
mixed well with poison

But her defense lawyer wanted
to give her a chance
so maybe she could get
a few years instead of life

And so he asked her as
she stood in the box:
“Mrs Tile, did you feel any remorse,
considering you killed your husband?”

“Sure, I did,” said Mrs Tile
*“when he asked for second helpings”

Look, we prosecutors in Law Town
we are so well-practiced
that if we set our minds to it
we can even put on trial a turkey sandwich

In fact
just last week we managed
to get a banana convicted of ******;
sure, the conviction was overturned later on appeal -
but hey, the point is, we can skin anybody

the woman came in
to our office
and my deputy took her statement

her husband had been missing
over three days;
and she handed in a photo
for identification

and she had a message
for her husband, faithfully recorded
by my deputy:
*"Come home, darling-
mother didn't come to visit after all"

When I was a teenager
(like Dave Allen must have been)
I was at confessional
and the priest asked me what my sin was

" I have been in bed, Father
with a woman
of loose morals," I said
and refused to give a name

He sighed and he said:
"Was it Anna Berley?"
I said I couldn't tell
"Was it Sue Saxton?"  he persisted
I insisted I was sworn not to tell
"Nora Muxton?"  he asked again
I remained silent
And he dismissed me then with
5 Our Fathers and  5 Hail Marys


My mate Sam was outside
and he asked what I got
and I said to him:
*"5 Our Fathers and  5 Hail Marys -
and 3 good leads is what I got"

don't you hate it? -
when you write a poem
and you adopt this persona
you use "I"
(yeah, the first person)
and your reader is so ****** literal-minded
and takes the "I" to be "you"
and comforts you, or winks at you
offers heavy commiseration
or provides motherly or
fatherly advice
or grandpa's advice
(as the case might be)...
and you want to scream:
Hey, it's not me!

it's like the novelist
who's asked by their readers:
Is this novel about your life?

*Hey, it's not me! It's not me!

dear sparrow
at my window -
what should I do now
with all this pain in me
and all this stubborn sorrow?*

there are the scars of life
and all that we do to one another
there's the injustice I suffered
at the hands of those who had power
and I stumbled and I fell
and there was laughter all round
there is regret and time offers no solace
and I am left in my isolation
staring through my  window
at passing strangers with vacuous looks

*dear sparrow
at my window -
what should I do now
with all this pain in me
and all this stubborn sorrow?

I have no appetite
for pronouncements, platitudes
declarations, meditations and revelations
no patience for wisdom
and cogitations and much worse
regurgitations
no stomach for moanings and
groanings
musings, and working out meanings
much less about how your groin is today
I'd just like to
(like Renoir,  if I may,
just focus and work)
not to be anything,  no attempt
to be
just what is natural and easy
play and laugh
and when it's time
just *yawn and sleep

This ghost was thinking:
do I exist in my own world
or do I only exist
in the human world?
if humans do not see me
do I exist,
or do I exist only
as they experience me?

And it thought so hard
it went up in a cloud of smoke -
****! - just like that
and ceased to be, from that moment

*Poor ghost,  it never found out the answer
And a human died and became a ghost
to take its place
and so it goes