mum’s handyman

mum’s handyman stopped to lean on his mower
and watch as I pulled up to park the motor

two dark and perfect semi circles of sweat
hung like cartoon breasts on his nike vest

I’m not in the way am I, I said
he narrowed his eyes and shook his head

nice day for it I said, nice n’hot
he blew out his cheeks and said no it’s not

watched me as closely as a serial killer
as I got out my knock-off Colin the Caterpillar

some white and red flowers, five pound the pair
from the closest Morrisons to mum’s house there

I’m her son I said, so how’s it going?
I thought as much he said and carried on mowing

professor pat pending

we’re caught in a traffic jam north of the bridge
we can’t budge
my feet are aching riding the clutch
the rush
hour traffic
tragically and almost completely static
god I wish this car was an automatic
or something even more fantastic
where I could fold in the wheels and sprout wings
and flap away over everything
shouting later losers as I clear the estuary
instead of stuck here till sometime next February

how Stanley howls

how Stanley howls
and growls
with a vexing mix of vocal vowels
and frowns, and scowls
till your patience is broken and your sympathy aroused
and you ask him what all the fuss is for
and you go over there and muss his fur
and he rolls on his back like a fuss connoisseur
all four paws in the air
and you despair
and with one last ruffle you leave him there
and he sneezes and stares
and watches you sit back down in your chair
waits a couple of minutes and then
the whole damned performance starts over again

pass the conch

A sudden squawking & squeaking / testing! testing! this is your unconscious shrieking / everybody pointing and freaking / my junk trunked and my nightmares leaking / but hey – maybe with a little tweaking / it won’t be so bad aesthetically speaking

St Francis of Assisi, mano a mano / smiling serenely, covered in guano

Dora the Explorer’s sectioned sister Cora / losing her shit, her shoes & her fedora / scoring on the lawn with the local flora / trying to forget the earlier trauma / an outbreak of scabies at the local sauna

Coming over all tardigrades

Singing ‘Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina…’ / slipping & sliding with the screaming diners / in the gilded saloon on the sinking liner

A spaceship lands for a flying visit / the crew some louche and lovely lizards / with comfy space slippers on their scaly flippers / but the waiting cops have got their fingers on their triggers / slam the ambassadors beak over gizzards / clip them with zip loc ties on their snippers / bust them downtown for the judge to consider

Later the cops munch fistfuls of fries / ‘He looked at me funny with his millions of eyes’

Meanwhile, a transparent brain / blows down the road like a tumbleweed, all the way there and back again

Hey Jack! The ogre’s throwing a party tonight / and he said for me to slip you an invite / dress to fright / tell your uber top of the beanstalk, turn right / we’ll be fee-fi-fo-fummming all through the night / his goose is a nuisance but his harp’s a delight / alright? / you seem quiet…

I wandered lonely as a cloud / before I was told it wasn’t allowed

I’m writing to the writer of The Fast and the Furious / pitching a prequel The Slow and the Curious

I go glamping and end up being galumped

I get fifteen years for arbitrary language

Mr Spock / shocks the flock with his glock / the mean demeanour of a gnu in crocks

And the lion shall lie down with the lamb / on a pay-per-view zoo cam

I’m a dab hand with a dab but I flounder with a flounder / I take a guilty bite of a quarter pounder / and I struggle to remember / remember remember the fifth of december / or something, whatever / trying to be clever / looking outside and reading the weather

Anyway – hurry up and pass the conch / I’ve found a fork & I’m ready for lunch

modern version

many years ago
riding our shining ambulance
we found ourselves called
to a hoarder’s house
the front door was bolted
so we went round the back
fighting through coils of brambles
so full and thick
it was like trying to breach
an enchantment of barbed wire

eventually we found her
not sleeping but dead
hanging off a perching stool
a bucket on her head

as far as resuscitations went
it didn’t
a complete non-starter
we snapped off our gloves
in the spiky arbour

poor sleeping beauty
a little older than I remember

and the moral
to this horror?
I don’t know
enchantments come and go
brambles, princesses
uniformed witnesses
the best you can do is stay awake
and time how long an ambulance takes

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Stanley v.2

I made a new Stanley from the recycling
basically just experimenting
with everything and anything

his head was a cracked plastic funnel
a baked bean can for a muzzle
his ears a pair of raggedy flannels

for his eyes I used two diet coke tops
his legs were four old floor mops
his claws quartered rubber door stops

his body was a novelty cushion
wires to work every facial expression
a bark from a bootleg jazz session

it turned out better than I anticipated
I hoped he might’ve celebrated
but Stanley growled at the creature I’d created