Friday evening. Whiteout.
Snow falls silently,
softly in ghostly murmuration.
A restless earth blanketed,
metamorphosed and miniaturised to a mewling baby,
acquiescing to the serenity of sleep.

Let the sky fall,
the working week is over,
and I hygge at the aphelion
from Monday 9am.
The curse of Adam,
the venue of all my failures,
trapped in the repetition of an Escher,
tiring with the tedium of Sisyphus.

But here, my daughter and I
spin a delicious nonsense of
animals and magic and poo and bum talk
that would make Rabelais smile.
We are safe, and delighted,
we are enchanted, and transported.

And the many tiny tortures
of the working week,
that pursue me in thought –
wild dogs tracking prey to exhaustion –
suddenly fade. Give up the chase.

The universe is singing,
and my soul springs to life on a great dancefloor,
galvanised by the lovely electricity of
my daughter’s lambent laugh.


Haikus 4

Public piss palava
Fleeting panic, the
wee won’t come. Feeling five, and
judged a cottager.

Why can’t gentle, meek
civic-minded, kindly old
dears rule the world?

Services to Greengrocery
When the Palace phoned
re. the honour, he had a
carrot up his bum.

Fucking yeah
Waking from a dream
in which he was a black Sting,
he felt nirvana.

Nervous twat
The fifth time he asked
‘was it tea?’ he knew office
life would be quite tough.

Eighty-nine hours
of practice, and she finds his
dance routine ‘quite strange’.

Queen is handy
Few know that Quentin
Crisp pioneered the sport
of UCF. Yes.