HOME TOWN POPS

1. SEA CHEST

gran had her ghost story

her apparition
at the end of the bed

a woman
hovering
on
grandpas sea chest

she
only
aired
it
once or twice

and i was sceptical
cos me id talk about it all the time

and anyway 
i was more interested
in the sea chest

in my childs mind
there was d day in there
dunkirk
u boats
sharks off the n african coast

and a liberated pistol
i could smuggle home




2. SMALL TOWN

small town
shut cinema
was pool
is now bingo

evacuated farm buildings
sit in the scraps

the waterworks so thoroughly vandalised
they
shut
them
down

conrad lived here for 20 minutes
pepys hung out in the worlds end
revolting peasants
lit the marsh beacons

the queen mother
came to visit all the oil
shook my pas hand

and the school fire
well the police asked me about that
art class 1985
when i was drawing a man
with flames for a beard

still theres forest

silent woods
rolling uphill

you could be an animal there

and if you squint
from up top
you can see
londons jigsaw skyline

like a grey 
5B smudge

pocked with fragmented pencil lead



3. CATS

we saw five cats
just out walking 
round the crescent
under a 5pm drama sky

we said hi to one
rubbed his neck
he sat on the kerbstone
where old uncle bulgaria 
used to potter
in his steptoe yard

one was in a bungalow window
next door to where 
that tv lady grew up
she added a 'van' to her common name
and 
left 
for the green rooms 
and the silver lights

he watched us like a border guard

one played in a cardboard mountain
left over from flatpacks
piled out by the wheelie bins

one was spread out on front garden cement
like he fell out the sky
landed by plants looked like froth
and a window dog
behind him 
was barking in double glazed silence

another one strolled by
like some victorian 
perambulating 
taking the air
before aperitifs

and
back home
theres ours

still on the same pillow
no intention of moving
till
his
food and shit and shot 8.30 pm

and i thought 
where were the people
in this fuckburg town?

can hear them plenty enough at night 
thats for sure

sounds like the monaco F1
or the isle of wight TT
sometimes

its oxford freaking circus out there
when 
we
are 
not looking

SOE pistol, welrod, from ww2nation.com

OLD GUYS ARE BEIGE LEAVES FALLING INTO AUTUMN PUDDLES

old guys
    out
    on
    the
fucktown street 
    with
dead cocks of dance hall tales

    worn cog hips 
    roll 
    clogged with plaque 
and time 
and  factory waste

brown
blunt
orthopeadic 
feet 
shuffle slow 
determined and deliberate

    with
    dull muscle memory 
    of
the pitch and shudder of wooden-decked destroyers
    South Pacific 
      underage 
        and 
         lying
 
their
slacks 
are
shapeless beige
    and
    grandkids bulge their wallets
    and
      a hundred years of keys jangle on one ring
        and
          like
    camouflage
    in the autumn sun
    their
jackets are beige too 
bland and zip up
    and
      bought 
        from 
          Saga back pages

    up 
    the 
    paper 
    shop 
in pairs like unionised dinosaurs
    they 
      lean 
        on 
          gateposts
     their
gone low balls
    drained
    by
shore leave 
    and
    gravity
    and
    the bewildering long grind
        of
        change

today their lives are on the history channel
and
made
into
toys
and 
games

REMINDED

dont remember much about
my
trips
to
holland

canals
untipped waitresses
the room opposite the clock tower

but
the
houses
over by the park
look
dutch to me
in
the
tall slant
of
their roofs

like the allotments cowering under the tall cranes
with
their
rotting
ground fruit
and 
askew water butts
rusting and brown
remind
me
of 
a 
war
i wasnt in