Cocks And Horses by Neil McCall
I mount the grinning skewered stallion,
you grasp the saddled bird to my inside,
gold and scarlet as
an Indian bride.
Salt spray and onions in the autumn air,
hit-chart calliope whirls us higher
into the gaudy heart
of Lancashire.
I rise and you fall; I fall and you rise,
your hair a wild mane tossed in tungsten light
kiss me quick as trams
in the rainy night.
Dizzy and puddled we stagger to bed
till bacon beckons and herring gulls call
the cocks and horses
the child in us all.
