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In Print

Riverside Park-Up

I spin the length of Dark Side Of The Moon watching the trees.

Two roundels stuck to the windscreen,

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Free State Of Avalon

No tax disc…

My neighbour lives in a Leyland EA. He looks thin and sick.

Says he wants to be a mechanic, which is just as well –
his truck never starts.

A man with a red beard smokes by.
He wears a trilby hat with a badge pinned to the band

The Man From U.N.C.L.E

Snow falls on the river.

Skeletons hang from the boughs

Updated poem, first appeared in Obsessed With Pipework, No.50

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The cat’s whiskers? Snipped ’em clean-off with a pair of gold scissors on the day she stole baby Jesus from the Midland Bank nativity crib. Imagine that! And another cat, a black cat, a dead cat – on a sweep of gravelled drive, scooped up without ceremony, clang bang into the bin along with the beer cans and potato peelings. Later, a brawl in The Red Lion and when the officer arrived, someone whopped his helmet off and stashed it behind the fruit-machine for safe-keeping, and the hanging baskets in the street, part of the Town In Bloom competition were ripe for the taking, trophies to round off nine pint evenings.

Somewhat muddled, I bicycled through a lunar plantation, a cast-iron stove balanced on the handlebars trying to remember what he said, about breaking the window, the import of swaddling the brick in cloth.

When I crawled into bed I had to admit that lessons in chemistry, the periodic table in particular, were best appreciated when sloshed on sherry.

a revised version of a poem published in Tears In The Fence, No. 66, summer 2017

© Jonathan Chant 2020

 

 

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