Pull the pin
Drop a bombshell
This money comes
Bloody red, hard to sell

“It’s not us”, they say
“We’re manufacturers”
But coke dealers deal
To sniffing contractors

Those ships did sail
To warmer waters
In dusty mountain caves
For the honour of slaughter

Pounds still tick
Through the accountants wrists
A limp, sick feeling
No power in fists

When above, juggernauts
Geologically remove
Any hint of a gradient
Flattened, to excuse

The cutting of heads
In underground caves
But youthful anger is stubborn
It releases in waves

They’ll watch with tied hands
Subsiding the cost
Of the shelling that follows
And the peacetime compost



The thief curses
An inadequate haul
Spraying condiments
At inanimate objects
The words lining a fridge
Were the worst hit
Innocent bystanders
Cursed and criticised
Literary snobs
Offended by each stanza
Till they squeezed the bottle
Tighter and tighter
Modern art installation
Egg Yolks in shrubs
Painting the town
Ketchup red


A Generalisation of Demographics

Tomorrow is just another step
On a platform. Train coffee
Weeps down chequered seats
Last centuries style
Catch a glimpse of a grey hair
Sprouting through despite
The cuts I’ve made each day
A book hangs loosely
From my other hand
I’m reading about demography
Trying to understand why punching
People who smile is assault
But siphoning off money is encouraged
I wash my hands again
In that dirty sink
Blood red, veins dark blue
Losing is a learning curve
Hanging vertically from a tall tree
Drying out till the resolve
To remain active withers
In the light breeze

A Generalisation of Demographics