HIS SILVER DISH

theres a man in the toilets
& hes not there about drugs
& he offers a folded towel
or a spray of something fragrant
& hes looking well turned out
& look heres his silver dish
& you HAVE to tip something

cos the man 

has a chair 

in the toilets 

for a job

& i have given these blokes
a loose button / a watch battery

a rough disc of pocket matter 

like those roman coins they find
with rough edges from the erosion

but never really on actual purpose

i dont know - 

i never expected 

there to be

a man there
& its difficult 

& its strange

being out there

in the world

even only needing 

a simple slash 

A PERFECT PENCIL

let them have their prams
their toys / their politics

let them cosplay leader
in the swollen twilight

their fingers on the banks
& the button for the bombs

ive given up on the bastards
more times . . . i lost count

i only need
a perfect pencil

& enough quiet
to write a true sentence down

in this hard won bubble
of love & lunch & lexapro

baby birds learning at the feeder
cats making loaves on the lawn