a strand i need a coastline, need to be able to hullabaloo, from the green land, to where the lapping fold of the water comes, hurrying ashore like a wild eyed refugee. lingering,
overbite they sent you out on the bus, to fetch a fluorescent tube. they’d paid for it over the phone, so they didn’t have to trust you with petty cash. they didn’t know
lesson of the birds (part ii) i watch two sparrows, sparring over the dog end of a pasty, grabbing with heads bent low. flapping over ground, the victor makes it to the safety,
the wedding list you have a crate of vodka, you plan to hide in the bridal suite, ‘just for the family’. Dad’s been to France, and filled a Vauxhall estate
why people in Range Rovers always look terrified sweltering in your metal hell, white knuckles cling to the wheel like a dirty uncle fingering clothes on a washing line.