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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Jan 2022
Wingmen
It's copper pipe or copper plate, eight quid a crate down the scrapyard.
pinching lead off the church roof was the nearest I got to a God,
the lightning rod was made of iron, no one in their right mind would buy one, but it looked good on my bedroom wall.
These days you need documentation
handshakes won't do,
everything's totted up and written down,
even to the last half-crown,
how's a spiv supposed to live?
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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