Another heatwave, the plumber pauses for prayer
then (like us all) back to roots & excrement.
Three canny Buddhists next door
wave their golden cat,
as if it was astronomy.
Deities should never be an inconvenience, the
bell-ringers & muezzins must learn to mime –
it will repay the seabreeze & allow killers to doze.
our explorers think it’s coffee.
There’s more nutrition in asphalt
than all the doctrines of the smug.
Leaves are smoking,
my editor has a test kit: decides
this bad acid is not etching.
He’s rolled my linebreaks & disappeared
before I could sell them to schoolkids.
Because I am bad though
inconsequentially so. Sentimental over the 70’s while
approaching my 70’s…
I am clumsy with numbers.
Every education left me dumber,
the maths master hurled chalk about the room
like the Sprinkler of Doom.
I can’t remember my best friend’s name
though his crimes are obvious.
My deceits have all met the tumbril.
On this toss on off day I realise
all that training done
when I only wanted to mess with your head.
This city is a disaster, the country’s even worse.
We guzzle the oil our water is an infection.
Meat wanders the pasture
& knows life is a marinade.
1 November 2017