The Shark DuoClean Lift-Away Vacuum Cleaner with TruPet
I have to say
I liked – no – strike that – I LOVED – this sexy little puppy
I mean – take the LED lights on the head of it
In-fuckin’-credible
they lit up the bed like a magnesium flare
I saw everything, and I mean EVERYTHING
bone fragments, other shit
it all went rattling up the pipe
nice
I liked the way the attachments snapped on and off
clean & sweet
reminded me of the folding stock & sights
on my Barrett MRAD
I thought the duster brush was okay-ish
the only weak spot
in the whole shootenanny
poor density of bristles, my friend
but hey – it’s an imperfect world
live with it
I still managed to get round
the ceiling, behind the dresser
the cage
I appreciated the generous amount of cable
nice touch, fellas
not quite enough
to lower myself all the way to the ground
but just enough to fuck up the copter blades
so all’s well that ends well
The hand attachment felt properly weighted
allowing for a decent swing
right and left, solar plexus, throat
Overall, I thought the build quality was top-notch
wipe clean, scratch proof, water resistant
In a word: forensic
So that’s it
The Shark DuoClean Lift-Away Vacuum Cleaner with TruPet
Five stars
Happy?
Wonderful.
Now put ten on the clock, my friend
Let’s blow this popsicle stand.
poems
the world according to mitchell & kenyon
none of these people are still alive / says the voiceover guy / as crowds of flickering people drift by / not one / not the kids in jackets and flat hats / or the moustachioed gents smoking pipes at the back / not the copper arresting the restive horse / not the horse, of course / or any of those bonneted babies in perambulators / or the Hope-sashed Temperance League agitators / not any of the heaving masses / waving and waving as the camera passes / not the acrobat in the striped apparel / who leaps feet first into a barrel / or the school kids in lines doing tucks and rolls / or the women twirling their parasols / or the soldier with a chest full of medals / or the old guy labouring on the pedals / of the latest Edwardian tricycle / or any of the hundreds of other bicycles / keeping pace with the overcrowded tram / not the post office boy with the telegram / or the factory owner taking the note / with a penny from his overcoat / not the smallest boy in the boys brigade / trooping down the high street on parade / a wooden rifle sloped on his shoulder / copying the company commander / not the woman with the black umbrella / in mourning for poor Queen Victoria / or the boy at the gate in line for a job / who sneers and sticks two fingers up / nor any of the three young women in flowery hats / who walk slowly past and then quickly back / all gone and done / and time moved on / turning at a steady camera handle’s pace / and the people paid a shilling to take their place / in the tent they set up on the village green / to show the miracle of the moving picture machine / just a shilling, to see themselves as others see them / ghosts, in a national film museum
the stipe angle
we sat together on the touchline
me on the bench
dave in his wheelchair
a tumour caught in his head
as squarely as the softball
in that outfielder’s mitt
did you see michael stipe
on unplugged MTV
I think that’s when it really hit me
he said
what did?
I’ll never be michael stipe
and in the time it took
to look away and back again
three strikes and you were out
chemo, crystal, prayer
(and a last minute flight to brazil
for a cure that – needless to say – didn’t)
we sat in concentric circles in the meeting house
stood up in turn, said some things
met afterwards in the courtyard
the snacks were fine, it went okay
the banality of tragedy
someone else cleared up
and death shall have no dominion
dylan said (thomas, not bob)
it did alright with you, though, didn’t it
that metastasising piece of shit
and here I am, thirty years later
still wrestling with the stipe angle
scrappy rap rant
I suppose it helps you don’t owe me / and I like it at the bottom with nothing below me / but hey – it’s okay / I’m finally dealing with this shit today / the mice are playing while the cat’s away / on some kinda retreat to work on his health / something about freeing the mouse in himself / something like that / something about a cat / anyway / hey / I’m fine most of the time / a scream and a wild front crawl / from the foaming rocks at the edge of the falls / but look – I’m not worried at all / I’m a cool-arsed original / I’m the swinging restaurant in the gondola beneath the flaming dirigible / I’m that cute but fatally defective detective / the chinless chump who never gets it / I’m that violin guy playing with brio / in that trio / on the titanic / who didn’t panic / but played on amongst all the scheming & the screaming / the flares / the desperate fights on the stairs / till the atlantic finally rushed up / and his stradivarius got smashed up / and he went floating off / with the rest of the flotsam & jetsom from steerage / (and not much in the way of peerage) / all the way to Newfoundland / him & the rest of the icy band / is that reasonable? / have I said something treasonable? / I suppose what I wanted to say is / It’s always safer to go where the money is / I’m as mercenary as the rest / I’m the wad of dirty notes in the kevlar vest / I’m the bastard son of Eastwood, Statham & Van Damme / I’m a fickle motherfucker who never gave a good goddamn / I’m the red light, the Don’t Walk, the stop / I’m the bloody nightstick in the belt of the whistling cop / but don’t judge me / okay? / I’m not feeling so great today / it’s true / would i lie to you? / okay – would I lie to you AGAIN? / still friends? / muchas gracias, finito, the end / it’s important to know where you stand / watching life on demand / with a raised right hand / for some fancy oath / you don’t understand / just don’t follow me / see? / I’m made up / I’m sponsored, pocketed, paid up / I’m a shoe-in for the sham brigade / I’m a stand-in / glad-handin’ for the president’s parade / the aristocrat in the kiss-me-quick hat / on the steps of L’Hotel Fantôme at Cap Ferrat / smiling, of course / horsey as a goddam powerboat / so, tell me, have I got your vote? / no? / I thought you’d be more impressed / the old school tie, the trouser press? / I thought you’d learned to be content / working for the government / dreaming of approval / a final, slick, anaesthetised removal / and writing? / don’t get me started / it’ll leave you hungry and broken-hearted / it’s like feeding cheese to a bony cat / that doesn’t get fatter but keeps coming back / or put it this way / okay? / you say what you want to say and if you’re lucky you live to fight another day / and if you don’t / well – it’s life, Jim / but not as we know it / a misquoted line with Nimoy’s name below it / but hey – never let a fake quotation stand in the way / of saying what you never meant to say
good day
the chihuahua fix
I just want to see maddy again
my crazy little dog
half chihuahua half who knows
satan linda says
linda’s been looking after her since I went in
I hear her barking in the background
maddy not linda
but I can’t have her back yet
not with things how they are
it’s taken me six months
just to get this far
everything from scratch
writing talking walking
I wouldn’t give up, though
all those people worse than me
I thought please god
whatever happens
not that
so I did everything
they asked and more
pocket rocket
the physios said
but all I could think of
was maddy curled up
on my shoulder
licking my ear
when the phone rang
so I pressed on
fractured my pelvis
falling in the gym
that was a blow
I can tell you
a low point
but I liked the consultant
the big I Am of Hips
smile easy as an alligator
at a water hole
‘What ARE we going to do with you?’ he said
‘Patch me up
and kick me out
quick as you like’ I said
‘I need my chihuahua fix’
‘Well why didn’t you say?’ he said
And wrote me a scrip
margaret & sarah
a woman made of thunderstorms answers the door
okay she says and what’ve you come for?
good morning I say I’m delivering a stick
i can see that she says i’m not completely thick
no i say … so … i’m guessing you’re not sarah
that’s right sherlock i’m margaret the carer
nice to meet you margaret i say is she in
no she’s out in the garden doing backflips again
of course she’s in she’s sitting in the lounge
sarah! she shouts there’s a man to see you some clown
she nods for me to come into the hall
hardly giving me space at all
before slamming the door like i’m doltish cattle
making all the paintings & portraits rattle
through to the lounge and sarahs there
sitting in the sunshine in a high-backed chair
don’t mind me she says I’m having a moment
i can see that i say look i brought you a present
just what i need she says a sword
that’s the last time i’m going to be ignored
waving it in the general direction
of margaret who stares with raw disaffection
you shouldn’t make jokes about that sarah
she says especially not to your live-in carer
then turns and walks away to the kitchen
like a jailor on some murderous mission
sarah winks at me waves the stick again and jabs it
when she comes back she says i’ll let her have it
jock & the conveyor belt of death
Life is but a day;
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree’s summit
says Jock, Lionel’s ancient border terrier
mournfully shaking his head
his eyes closed.
That’s beautiful, I say.
Did you write that?
Google it, he says
opening one eye &
wincing up at me
I will I say
He sighs, reaches up to tap the ash from his fag
into a chunky plastic ashtray
with Ricard on the side.
I push it a little nearer
Thanks he says
I shout out to Lionel
who’s still in the bathroom
Are you alright in there, Lionel?
‘I’m never alright!’ he shouts back
I look down at Jock
who nods ironically
We’re quiet for a while
watching the fucked & yellowing nets
ripple in front of the window.
He’s changed says Jock
Ever since all his brothers died.
All of them?
Five he says, holding up four toes
One a year
In age order.
And is he the youngest?
He is.
That’s hard.
Tell me about it.
I shout out to Lionel again
‘D’you need a hand?’
No reply
Jock takes another drag and
blows thin streams of smoke
through his incisors
It makes him look mean
but I don’t say anything about that
You wanna hear his latest thing? he says
What’s his latest thing?
His latest thing is the Conveyor Belt of Death
Yeah! I know, right?
Bloody hell. So what do you say to that?
Jock winces again
tries to shrug
(an arthritic kind of lurch)
takes another drag of the fag
then grinds the butt out
in the Ricard ashtray
with a look of disgust
I tell him there’s no conveyor belt, man he says
There’s life and there’s death and that’s it
Today you’re alive
So c’mon! Let’s go for a walk!
We can piss on some flowers
And does he?
No
a short walk to the bypass
you used to be able
to go over the fields
not any more
they’ve fenced it all off
why, I don’t know
now you have to stick to the lane
I usually walk to the by-pass and back
but I won’t let amelie off no way
too dangerous
I keep her on the extendable
look at that
you can still just about
read what they wrote:
pick up your shit
the council said they had to
paint it over
too aggressive, they said
but it’s not nice, is it
everyone using your garden
for a toilet
a few people spoiling it
for everyone else
same old same old
see that sign?
that makes me laugh
warning! alsatians off the lead!
I saw the man who owns it the other day
I bet you don’t recognise me he said
I do I said you used to sell pet food down the market
you’ve got a good memory he said
but why would I forget?
just make sure you keep your alsatians
away from my amelie I said
you’re alright he said
but I’m not so sure
what with him driving in and out all hours
the gates aren’t always shut are they
and I don’t know what’s worse
being run over or eaten by dogs
look at that house
what’s left of it
such a shame
almost burned to the ground
some foreigners were sleeping rough
set it all on fire
lucky they didn’t go up with it
it’s been like that a while now
but they’ve got plans
apparently someone somewhere
wants to turn it into a riding school
a riding school!
I remember when it was pigs & runner beans
come on, that’s far enough
let’s turn back
it’s not like it used to be
but at least we’ve got the garden
jane & the cat
it’s changed so much round here
well – everyone’s died
I’m the last woman standing
at night the street’s parked up
I picture them all
all them people
lying in their beds, in mid-air
during the day you don’t see no-one
no cars, nothing
I talk to the gardener once a week
he’s got a little dog
the yappy kind
we had a dog once,
a jack russell
called jane
she hated fireworks
I used to put cotton wool in her ears
wrap a scarf round her head
we had a cat, too, years ago
I don’t think he had a name
we just called him The Cat
his house got bombed out
so he come into ours
he was a funny little thing
filthy, not what you might call affectionate
he loved the rain
he’d go right out in it
and stay out
then sneak back in
and jump on your lap
give you a heart attack
like someone attacking you with a mop
I miss all our pets, though
when they was gone we didn’t get no more
not when we started playing table tennis
well – it wouldn’t be fair to them, would it?
rachel’s song in waltz time (with hens)
daddy was a / publican who / drank more than he / sold
wrestled with the / licence board who / finally took / hold
mummy did the / best she could but / struggled with the / pain
many were the / arguments and / nothing ever / changed
now you’re gone / it’s just my mum / she’s living on a / farm
with free-range hens / that scratch around / the yard and house / and barn
they follow you / or perch on drums / or watch you from / the shade
it’s wonderful, how / hens can be / so perfectly / behaved
here’s a picture / that I took, when / I was last at / home
a single egg / a socket set / the white against / the chrome
I don’t know why / it means so much / maybe I’m just / blue
Looking back at / everything, the / thoughtless things we / do
daddy was a / publican who / drank more than he / sold
wrestled with the / licence board who / finally took / hold
mummy did the / best she could but / struggled with the / pain
many were the / arguments and / nothing ever / changed
jim clayton 