Multiplastic

Sunday Morning Some say that drinking alone is bad But being alone is the excuse that I had To drink heavily, watching a film that you’d hate Though I forget the end, our hero’s fate In the morning, my bladder and the light Ally against the toxic, oppressive night To liberate me from sticky, salted bed to floor A refugee, a survivor of my latest civil war Maybe my freedom could come in the shape Of knock-off Special K instead of the grape But mugs of breakfast tea don’t drown out the racket The noise in my head, quite like getting ratted Now I’m in Costa, staring out and writing The coffee is bitter but there’s a lull in the fighting The dogs and toddlers are cute and the sun’s a reminder That chances only ever belong to the finder So, at the risk of being ‘alone’ with my thoughts And distrusting my bowels and balance of course Having lost count of how many times I’ve felt this rough Today I would like a nice stroll in the Clough And maybe, for a while, there’l...

Town Pigeon (a sonnet) Screaming laughter, a child runs from mother Into the flock that explodes with applause From dusty grey wings, leaving uncovered Discarded chips, cold beige breakfast, first course But our eyes can’t see the colours you find In the new cliff faces we’ve built for you To raise Rock-Dove chicks and live like your kind Nesting in couples, gathering in groups You’ve taken the world and made it your own Sacrificed legs and toes, a survivor Who can tell Bach’s from Stravinsky’s soft tones Who knows herself reflected in mirrors Eat, sleep and shit, get laid in an alley So much like us, you avian scally   May 2023