Sliding Sauce...

I went to a café and asked for a bacon sandwich.

The girl said “You want sauce, love?” in an Eastern European accent.

I stood there and dribbled slightly.

“Brown or red?”

I nodded.

She tutted and put brown in there.

Perhaps if I had said red we would be wed by now.

The Grave of the Unkown Squirrel

I saw a dead squirrel on the side of the road

On a hot day in posh Regents Park.

A fat man with sunglasses ignored it.

No one called the coroner.

The local dogs had palates too refined

For sun-braised road-kill.

Poor nut-obsessed chap.

As yet unpecked.

Born into the wrong species.

His death of supreme indifference.

Simply a victim of progress.

Like The Luddites.

Or vapourised Palestinian children.

World Cup Selection

I have been training hard.

I kick a ball against a wall three times a day.

That’s 9 kicks a day.

Sometimes two in a  row.

I run up and down the stairs

Until I’m sick.

I stole some traffic cones

And run around them

Until I fall over.

I dug out my England shirt

From 1984.

It pinches and rides up over my tummy.

I drink milkshakes to get me strong.

I paint white lines on my bedroom floor.

I kicked an apple over my fence.

I’m ready.

My mind is sharp.

I have sun tan lotion on my nose.

Now I’m sitting in the hall

Waiting for Roy to call.

Absolute Biscuit

All Hail Mister McFriend

When you are in trouble

His help will he lend.

Warm hearted, tender

Befriender of all

Spiritual bartender

Forgiver of fools.

All Hail Mayor McFriend

Houser of orphans

The vulnerable defends.

Fighting injustice

Corrupt swept away

Doing his best

To bring brighter days

All Hail Emperor McFriend

Imprisoning critics

His will it won’t bend

Tear gas at protests

A moon laser planned

He is the greatest

A GOD for these lands.

Insecure Robot

Provisions piling up in my arms
Clutching cheese
Losing grapes
I, B McF, holder of loyalty card
Spurner of baskets
Arrive at self-checkout
Thus sidestepping the choking terror
Of till small-talk:
"How are you?"
"Would you like a bag?"
Shaking hands
Wallet-dropping perspiration.
I scan my items through
Praying that all goes smoothly
And no assistance is necessary.
I have a bottle of cooking sherry
For emergencies.
The machine beeps:
"Approval needed!"
"All right" I say.
"You're good at scanning things."
Insecure Robot.
I fail to win her over.
"Wait for assistance."
I'm no good at compliments.

A Miscarriage of Justice

I saw him shivering and flinching

His two back legs crushed

His black eyes wide with shock.

I asked him if he was all right.

But he didn't reply.

I called the police and told them

Of the heinous, wicked

Evil act. The clues, suspicions

A complete account of the facts.

They thanked me for my thoroughness

But told me that it was not their business.

That perhaps I should find a sturdy stick

And cave the victim’s skull in with it.

They told me more and finally that

They have not the powers to arrest a cat.

Intruder!

I hide in the cupboard

Between the cornflakes

Below the spluttering boiler

Above the milk lake.

It’s dark in the cupboard

There’s a small crack of light

I peak through the slit

At the man in my sight

He’s scoffing my toast

The crumbs fall on the floor

He chews and he snuffles

And then gets up for more.

He wears my grey dressing gown

He’s fat and he’s mad

He scratches his bottom

And then sniffs his left hand.

He uses the shower gel

And leaves on the tap

Flecks the mirror with toothpaste

And never replaces the cap

I hide in this cupboard

And creep out by night

I piss in a flower pot

Forever planning my flight

But he’s going next Tuesday

He says it’s just for a while

Pubic hair in my bathroom

Unspeakably vile.

I can’t let him find me,

I wish he were gone.

This trespassing usurper,

My brother John.

Game of Unknowns...

I’ve heard tales told of Games of Thrones
These 3 years past and before in weighty tomes.

Of dragons and fire and spectral demons.

Cruel King Joffrey, The Red Wedding.

The fate of the Starks, the rise of the Lannisters.

The golden hues of King's Landing.

The imposing frozen Wall.

Intrigue, war, incest, revenge.

The soft curve of exposed breasts.

The dangling of occasional testicles.

Seven Kingdoms, but three questions:

What's going on?
Which one is he?
What kind of accent is that meant to be?

Planet Snot

Curl-ed up in a snot ball duvet

Nested in scrunched up snotballs.

My children.

Snotty moons orbit

The glowing source of all snot.

A volcano of viscous sticky fluid

That dries and rips skin from nose.

Fusing tissue to skin.

I rasp and gurgle into papery rags

Ball them up

And expel them

On to the mattress.

To Dream The Dream

I works I in a Post Room works I

Letters see I and spreadsheets fill I.

Small grey pinecone women opposite I,

Shivers she in the slightest breeze

When man comes he to change the bins.

Loud mouth old women she sit next there

And nervous manager her with deadeye stare

Glancing at I screen to see I work

Close I window to Book Face him.

Someone files post in wrong box.

Someone miscounts order of lanyards.

Someone orders pens with wrong cost code.

Wailing, gnashing of teeth, internal investigation.

“Oh Gawd” laments pinecone, with deathly, loan moorland wail,

Lenses smeared with the heat of tears.

Where Everybody Knows Your Shame

Do you remember Cheers?
Sam’s tragic handsomeness.
The discomforting Carla.
Woody's self-contained idiocy.
Norm's disheveled pessimism.
Rebecca's whirlwind of despair.
Cliff's oddball stories.
The alienation of Frasier Crane.
And that extra who was sat at the bar for 20 years and never said a word.
Smiling when directed, frowning when requested.
Mutely graying.
Brooding.
Plotting.
Revenge.

Here Lies the Beef

Three cows in a field.

One black.

One white.

One black and white.

Multiculturalism in action.

Well done cows.

From The back of My Freezer to the Front of My Face.

I know Linda McCartney!

She stares at me from a box of vegetarian sausages

I bought in 1993

Stored at the back of my freezer behind a bag of frozen peas

I wonder if they’re worth anything.

Must be!

Don’t say anything cringeworthy, Paul, you old attention-seeking withered whore.

Or I’ll give you one from my knuckle-top four

And you will take your final tour.

Hello?

Goodbye!

Get Back!

Wooo!

Let It Be!

You’re diminishing the value of my frigid legacy.

Squirrel Army

Knees on sink rim, think I to glimmer a squint of the Squirrel Army
Ah me, does me old art good to see em march passed me
Regimentals grey, taches bushy sprays out from nose to arse
Proud fellows all, nut bucklers smartly shining
Blimey calm me it’s the Squirrel Army.
And to think of fortnight hence when buck-toothed men
Will fend off cat on fence fur a flying, squealing, hissing catcophony.
Beat the bested beast back retreat it will on first attack
For Good King Cyril of the Squirrels did grant protection on me.
Thank my lucky stars, from Cat I fear no pains nor scars
For the Boys of the Squirrel Regiment do secure my lands and charge no rent
Excepting dry roasted peanuts by the door on Friday
And certain other favours lady’s modesty not withstanding.

The Invariable Terror of Cat

I alone on dreary day with bin rescued Kahlua and Paper Folding Fun 5

Fumbling at threads and clacking tired tongue against rented dentures

Falling in and out of consciousness in luke-warm bath

Wrapping towel around head til neck hurts

Blurting indiscriminately

Partly farting.

"What's that?"

Clattering bin lids

Metallic scratches of Shatner's Bassoon

Causes I to shat I's pants Home Alone at noon

What worrying troublesome something scurrying hurriedly

Dressing gown, dressing down frown, dressing messed with brown mounds

Rolled up paper, alertly ready to face impending danger, sweat neck drips, air whips

Power Ranger.