Trains with no people
A church with no steeple
It's just not right
If they're not packed in all tight
Armpit-close carriages
I've seen more distant marriages
Clickety-clack travel
Yakety-yak shackled
Manners alight
It's just not right
If they're not packed in all tight.
The birds gossip away around TV aerials. Their daily chats, music to my ears. Yet I wonder. What if it is just chat? What if true birdsong is sung at a level, and at a beauty, we cannot hear or handle?
It's out of range. I strain an ear to Nature. We have yet to earn her trust.
My wife and I have a large mattress
It's known for its size and its flatness
I move in my sleep
Miles I can creep
It's why I sleep with a road atlas.
Time's a gift, the present
Use it wisely, or it stops
Don't waste it, for a second
Just playing with the box.
in my head
it's nice and bright
despite the dark outside
but in my head
I'm just 18
it's 1985
The smirk behind the smile
The jerk behind denial
Painting Priti pictures
Out of hate and bile.
You're sat there still at traffic lights
Wondering how they function
The reason that they have red lights
Is cos you're up the junction.
"Robots won't rule my life"
says me dad to me.
"But dad you've stopped at red lights -
since 1963"
FOR SALE signs on our hill. Giant, wooden flowers. They disappear into a line of perspective that suggests they go on forever. Maybe they do. I'm flushed with an urge to draw an I between every O and L on the TO LET signs. I reproach myself for such toilet humour. Yet, I smile.
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