Grimbeau

In the names of gods and sods,

we all perish.

Unlike the giant sink spiders, who,

like Andy duFrais,

made it via drain,

to bask in cool,

silver basins,

asylums,

and bathe in the tumult

of the morning tap tsunami.

Kettle on,

wipe and flush

the mushrooms.

Trousers round

lifeless ankles.

The shame of it!

The shame.

Baby safe in the microwave:

Suffocated. Cars meander still

slate dead drivers slowmo halt

in open sewer.

Ringa ringa roses…

Today,

some place in Shetland,

an upside-down helicopter on sand.

A phone rings, it is my doctor.

He say: ‘I will be late.’

‘Okay’, I say, ‘so will I’.