what’s it all about eh?
poems
everyone’s funnier than me thankfully
someone was telling me about
his plans to cycle across Europe
detailing the miles between
one city and the next
what he’d wear
exactly what kinda bike
I said put a basket on the front
fill it with apples
and throw them at people as you go
no
he said
but the bike has two paninis
over the front wheel
someone else
was talking about
his grandfather
who fought in the first world war
mine did too
I said
he was in the first hoover battalion
they’d go in
with henrys on their backs
and clean out the trenches
oh he said
that sucks
someone else was telling me
about an old apple orchard
I like climbing trees
I said
but once I’m up
I tend to nest
and you have to poke me down
with a long stick
oh
she said
I’d use the stick to keep you up there
embarrassing moments #1
the terrifying dad of my best friend Gavin
was standing outside his workshop having
all his mates round from the biker club
to admire his work on a Tiger Cub
I stood there too but didn’t know mechanics
so when it went quiet I started to panic
I wanted them to see I was into bikes
but the only thing I could think of was pipes
I squatted down and grasped the exhaust
still red hot from riding of course
I gasped, said shit, flew straight backwards
(can’t remember my exact words)
and it wasn’t so much my pulsing red hand
as their silent treatment I couldn’t stand:
5 parts contemptuous, 5 parts saddened
then carrying on as if nothing had happened
what it looks like
it’s not a black dog
that howls and whines
it’s not a dark weed
that rises and binds
it’s not a grim mask
a scream, or a skeleton
it’s not an odd dance
or a glum-looking elephant
it’s not a low cloud
that rains on your bed
or a stream of squiggles
that wriggles from your head
no – it’s much less graphically cute than that
that void you’ve been keeping under your hat
is you
off lead
what do you do
with a dog like you
sniffing with his snout
running about
can’t hear a thing
so you have to shout
woolly as a rhino
extinct – I know
lived in the Pleistocene
Pleistocene not Plasticine
(is this really a poem about Stanley?
I think you’re getting sidetracked, sadly)
how to proceed
with Stanley off lead
yeti grade feet
tail so sweet
following his nose
back for a treat
lairy as loki
the series was hokey
Hiddelston charming
the dialogue jarring
(look – this is NOT a poem about dogs;
go find yourself another job)
the stanley anomaly
about 4 billion years ago
give a take a week or so
our Last Universal Common Ancestor
did its single cellular best ta
scrape a living around some vents
which as livings go is quite intense
fast forward through the family tree
and we end up with a dog called Stanley
half grey wolf, half old sofa
a perfectly adapted eater and loafer
a mishmash of such indescribable looks
Darwin would’ve tossed his books
returning to my roots
it was finally quiet on the clinical desk
the end of the day with nothing much left
we were slumped around it talking about death
I remembered the chats I had with mum
about life and death and what you become
she wanted hope; I tried to give her some
but it’s hard when you don’t believe in spirit
just every natural thing has a limit
and the really magical thing is physics
her proof of course was the ghost of Fred
who appeared one night at the foot of her bed
and THAT’S the first she knew he was dead
anyway, we often chatted about this
reincarnation versus fiery pits
we’d always end on good terms with a kiss
I was shopping in Sainsbury’s (the vegetable aisle)
when my sister rang to say she’d died
in bed that night with the dog by her side
so after all those talks about maggots
angels and spirits, atoms and planets
I lost the connection weighing carrots
teen bodybuilder at the gym
MATHS?
that’s a laugh
maths is BORING
counting numbers gets me snoring
SCIENCE?
silence
science is shit
how’s Einstein gonna get ya fit?
TECH?
total vibe check
I’d rather Netflix and chill
lifting pencils makes me ill
Biology’s
quality
when they talk about sex
and you get the dope on glutes and pecs
mate
I can’t wait
to quit that place
the only thing keeps me bangin’ is weights
jim clayton 