OFFCUT POSEY No 32

now i am the man 

out in the garden
whos waving at all 

the planes sliding by

there they scratch pale stripes

in the stonewash sky

that grow - undulate

till it looks like 

fine beach sand looks

after the tides 

~

all the city airport

pilots know me 

i reckon / by now

& they radio each other

'hes got the blue hat on today, over'

or something like that

ABOUT A BEACH HOLIDAY

the cool night
& hobo dawn
prest a promise
the day mulls on

& in comes the naos of august

petrol spilt

on the services

yellow grid

concrete sea

~

then gulls cry in the ratine blue

&

now motorboats smoke their diesel

& we take lunch
in foil & in tupperware
to the beach

jellyfish & seaweed

tangled like warriors

in the wormholed sand