a one armed man with a trilby on
trotted past our transom twenty times.
I asked him in - and sat him down.
‘Gi’ us some beer’ he said,
‘Gi’ us some grog;
the sun’s in the East’ he said
‘past 9 o’clock!’
I handed him four cans, he smiled,
‘I got a flock of mouths to feed;
a farm; chock-full of refugees’
‘Gi’ us some tins’ he said,
‘Gi’ us some wine;
the sun’s in the West’ he said
‘Opening Time’
Look God – you did it - didncha?
Put me in here, didya!?
Make it clear, matey
- it’s bin creepy lately.
You see, I dunno whether to fire
in a dark place, this alley,
but I’m scared and ready to volley;
heavy, baby, hellfire.
Preacher says you’re up and about
in the darkening sky
but, me, I’m gonna lash out
to keep misself alive.
Hey angel come down - gimmee a mark
and get mi head on track - sort out mi heart.
Gordon was an old guy
we met in a bar-room;
Andrew clocked him early,
gave a target smile.
Gordon got latched onto
(caught in Andrew’s chat-up)
singularly focused,
singing little songs;
but surprise lurked close
when Andrew met him nose to nose,
asked him in all sweet-ness,
a laser - ‘are you Jesus?’
Shocked he blustered ‘I am not!’
and Andrew caught him - now - ‘Why not?!’
