take your platform boots off

Kevin

              you’ve killed a deer to make your point

but our tea and biscuit sensibilities

will cope

we forgive you

              you’re charming!

hiding from your vanity

                            likening molten glass to tartiflette 
in the fresh peat you hammer a sign

‘Not Hobit-Town’ (it’s cute)

then later tell the production crew (sternly)

“this not aspirational! This is economical!”
Marxism 101 plaything

soliloquies about the means of production

                            while you go on dung-safari 
afterwards the gang pretends to piss in a bucket

you call the result a “manly amount”
150 years of Britain’s industrial history

at the bottom of a Hackney canal

which swallows your magnet with an erotic slurp 
there you go all doe-eyed

banging on the shed roof

but we’re weary

              of plumbing double entendre
Kevin and the engineer boil a kettle 
                             “shall I play mother?”
that curve came from a tree

              gun powder tamped into the trunk

              a certain “massive quality”
boy with a simple dream

to own a patch of woodland

(where’s there’s a thing there’s a fence)
your friends show how they feel

by building a a straw effigy

              and lighting it with flaming arrows