MISFIT CAFE MORNING

the misfit cafe morning

7 AM gentle light & bacon

& us - our strange meat

is squashed & stretched 

into silhouettes similar 

to rejected supermarket fruit
 

& the floor & the tables & the plants

& our canes & our rollers & our braces
are all shaped from

the same resinous 

oil industry

by-product goo

& when a regular joe comes in

with wifi token & saturday paper

& sees two tons of neck beard

& 47 yards of wheelchair rubber
their hesitation is only noted

in the misfit cafe morning

7 AM 

gentle light 

& bacon

THE REGULAR SWOPPING

aging
is

the regular swopping out

of supermarket brands

on 

the 

same high street corner

where that cub hut was
& the glue deaths were

in your 

extremes
of youth

CARB JONES

now i am in a supermarket
&
the
fluorescent tubes
strung up on high wires
are
bleaching
my
thoughts
&
ideas

now i am
rendered blank / confused

back brain a carb jones

in the rainbow fusillade
of the product aisles

COBWEB ELBOWS

i worry
that memories
may degrade
with each needy use

like a favourite jumper

already skeined thin

at its cobweb elbows

& i worry i dont 

husband them enough

like maybe

i should be

~

but still

the fallen garden apples

gone sweet with rot 

& all the flies there

conjure crystal 

childhood moments

of paddington ringer t's

& moccasin slippers

gone slippy & shiny underneath

& still 

the supermarket shower gel

of jungle & sport & sage 

mirrors those mornings long ago

when things

were different

enough to count

SOME MONDAY POPS

HIGH STREET MARKET

cardboard empire
stacked & packed

coffee loading
fingerless gloves
take a break
to
dig inside money aprons

refolding the float
shaking the shrapnel

in 
the
6 AM refinery glare 

& yell-

POUND FORRA POUND

mildly psycho
at the old 
& 
the supermarket wary

come 
opening 
time



IN HIS OWN WAY

hes fucked come dawn 
nervous
norovirus
again 

he fucks the dawn
in his own way . . . 

then calls the day
to say

hes too tired now

to
come
outside
&
play

in that awful streetside 
gone
sweatbox
gray




SO SCATTERED

what can i write now
that better have said ?

( child
  sat
  on the empty 
  autumn back lawn
  sad
  gaze
  on the empty 
  kitchen window

  he has a toy car
  thats not quite right

  wondering 
  what 11 AM
  is for )

what to write now
in
these
times
so . . . so . . . scattered

( too OUT of touch
  too IN touch
  facetime
  plastic hacked )

what to write now
but
an
ode again
to
the
timeless trees
timeless lessons

rooted but reaching



ODE TO TIMELESS TREES

the springwinter wind
blows
early 
apple
blossom

like spontaneous confetti

over
the
marriage
of
the
birdshit onion grass
&
cracked
rutted
english lawn

from quirkyscienece.com

CAFE MADRIGAL 5 - THEY READ PAPERS

they read them
dont they

those yellow papers
left about
in 
the
supermarket cafe

they buy them
dont they

in habit
with a touch of pride

keen for the indignation inside

and they read them
dont they
in
the
supermarket cafe

where everyone can see them

their naked lunch on display

and
their reflux
tomorrows
front page

from pxleyes.com

THREE WATER POPS

my mirror
is
broken water
in
the
gone
of
the hospital lights

~

the mornings
nevertime
has
the 
daily instructions there in the glass

and
i
feel
like
an
automaton
in
supermarket fancy dress

on a stony beach
with a 99 i cant eat

in english rain

~

and if i used to wear all blue

well
whats
it
to
you ?

i used to pretend
i
was
the
sea

from tripadvisor.co.uk

SKY GIVES ME QUESTIONS

something 
has
forced
the 
clouds to march

i feel their PRESSURE
their ordered INTENTION
from
down
on
the
patios timelock of 10.15 AM
my
neck bent in wonder

they
resemble
perhaps
a long grey-stained underside 
of 
a supermarket checkout conveyor
rolling
over
an
unresting earth sluggish with 

ghosts ?

or
with
field dust
or
attack smoke
or
just
more domestic kettle steam 

from schoolphysics.co.uk

SUPERMARKET

cold aisle/packets of bad horse and bacon

shades on

in shock from hot dust of Outside

plastic basket of meat and cheese to eat

and its 

Bomb Blast Bright

and its

Alien Cold

i MUST get out

big floral woman at till

asks me to pay for her marge

so

she

can

leave

NO i say