Coming up for Noon:
Chicken & fish purchased by Poll.
No knobby-curse, no hobby-horse…
ham & eggs ate listening as…
big con speaks: poor as piss, full of shit.
After this, fearful prospects – complex phantom
horrors hidden behind the gun-ho noises
of the head boy’s gobhead, a quake
of vile thoughts sent me, suddenly weary,
back to the warmth of my duvet.
For better, Heaney’s Beowulf bolstered my warm bed and stark head
until half three: silent, dozing, sleeping,
phone calls were ignored. Then up to find the house empty and open,
closed and locked the cold back door.