Take a deep breath. Smell only darkness.
5-star
The Mandarin Hotel, Jakarta.
5-star, bordering on the Milky Way.
Bathrobes a polar bear would kill for,
slippers I slide about in still.
A bowl with fruit so exotic,
you need a licence to peel,
and instructions on how to eat.
A bed as big as this room.
Attached to a cellophaned bouquet of flowers,
that looks too dangerous to unwrap,
a card from the Hotel Manager
who welcomes me (misspelling my name).
He telephones: Could we be photographed
together for the Hotel Magazine?
Puzzled, flattered and vaguely disquieted,
I agree. Within minutes
I am holding a glass of champagne,
his arm around my shoulder,
flicking through my limited series of smiles.
Then the inevitable: I am not
who he thought I was. I am not
who I am supposed to be.
He laughs it off, apologizes, and leaves,
taking the rest of the champagne with him.
I walk out on to the balcony.
From the 37th floor the city seeps
towards the horizon like something spilled.
Something not nice. That might stain.
I go back inside. Examine my passport,
and get out the photographs.
A couple who could be anybody
against a wall that could be anywhere.
A dog. Children smiling.
I unwrap the flowers. Open the maxi-bar.
Melting into the Foreground
Head down and it’s into the hangover.
Last night was a night best forgotten.
(Did you really kiss a strange man on the forehead?)
At first you were fine.
Melting into the foreground.
Unassuming. A good listener.
But listeners are speakers
Gagged by shyness
And soon the wine has
Pushed its velvet fingers down your throat.
You should have left then. Got your coat.
But no. You had the Taste.
Your newfound gift of garbled tongue
Seemed far too good to waste.
Like a vacuum-cleaner on heat
You careered hither and thither
Sucking up the smithereens
Of half-digested chat.
When not providing the lulls in conversation
Your strangled banter
Stumbled on to disbelieving ears.
Girls braved your leering incoherences
Being too polite to mock
(Although your charm was halitoxic,
Your wit, wet sand in a sock).
When not fawning over the hostess
You were falling over the furniture
(Helped to your feet, I recall,
By the strange man with the forehead).
Gauche attempts to prise telephone numbers
From happily married ladies
Did not go unnoticed.
Nor did pocketing a bottle of Bacardi
When trying to leave
In the best coat you could find.
I’d lie low if I were you.
Stay at home for a year or two.
Take up painting. Do something ceramic.
Failing that, emigrate to somewhere Islamic.
The best of luck whatever you do.
I’m baling out, you’re on your own.
Cockpit blazing, out of control,
Into the hangover. Head down.
Ode on a Danish Lager
The finger
enters the ring. A
pplause. Hooray!
Unzip. A
pause. Then, whoosh,
The golden spray.
Unfurling slowly
like a blue mist
from a sorcerer’s cave,
the genie is released
to serve a master
(soon to be slave).
A sip to mull over
the flavour
found only in the first.
I make a wish,
then slake
an imaginary thirst.
(it is not cannish),
is yielding, unmanish.
In it, my reflection,
modiglianish.
We wink at each other,
We’re getting on well,
The genie weaves
his genial spell.
I unmask one more
(unheed the body’s warning).
Goodnight, sweet beer,
See you in the morning!
Missed
out of work
divorced
usually pissed.
he aimed
low in life
and
missed.
Used to Drink
Used to drink Pernod
Till my insides, an inferno
Said ‘No’
Schooners of sherry
Soon as merry
Sick, very
So I drank rum
Yo ho ho as they come
Sore bum
What’s nice is
Gin with lemon slices
Made me grin. Did me in
Turned to lager (Special Brew)
Went gaga
So will you
Downed tequila
Soon down at heel, ah
It’s a killer
Odd dram of malt
Gave the old liver a jolt
Called a halt.
Mineral water
Herb tea
Beers (alcohol-free)
Cheers! I deserve a pat on the back…
(Next year maybe give up cocaine and smack.)
The Blues
Two a.m.
in the Blue Magnolia.
I smoke my last cigarette
and wait for the piano-player
to send me a drink over.
Star Juice
This morning
came a loud moaning
as a cloud
clutching its stomach
staggered across the sky
and threw up
all over Manchester
I know the feeling
It’s been up all night
drinking with the moon
Star juice
It’s a killer.
Drinking Song
Drink wine
Think romance
You’re a lover
Feel fine
Sing and dance
Fall over.
Another Mid-life Crisis
3 a.m. Feeling like death
and wanting to end it all
I reach for the aspirin bottle.
Will there be enough?
One by one I count them out. 72?
Need more to be on the safe side.
Rummaging around I add another 30.
That should do it.
Take the first two with a glass of water.
Feel better. Go back to bed. Fall asleep.
Early-Morning Poems
(i)
Got up
did my toilet:
Washed
Shaved
Combed hair
My toilet looks much nicer now.
(ii)
Got up
Had shave
Did Times crossword
Had another shave.
Shavings Account
Said the Bank Manager, pushing my finger
Into the desk-top pencil-sharpener,
‘But you have a larger overdraft
Than I had given you credit for.’
He turned the handle. Turned the screw.
‘Sorry, there’s nothing we ca
n do.
Business is business, we need our pound of flesh.
Next finger please. Put it in and… PUSH…’
Prayer to Saint Grobianus
The patron saint of coarse people
Intercede for us dear saint we beseech thee
We fuzzdutties and cullions
Dunderwhelps and trollybags
Lobcocks and loobies.
On our behalf seek divine forgiveness for
We puzzlepates and pigsconces
Ninnyhammers and humgruffins
Gossoons and clapperdudgeons.
Have pity on we poor wretched sinners
We blatherskites and lopdoodles
Lickspiggots and clinchpoops
Quibberdicks and Quakebuttocks.
Free us from the sorrows of this world
And grant eternal happiness in the next
We snollygosters and gundyguts
Gongoozlers and groutheads
Ploots, quoobs, lurds and swillbellies.
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
World without end. OK?
Fired with Enthusiasm
This morning
the boss
came into work
bursting
with enthusiasm
and fired everybody
In Case of Fire
In case of FIRE break glass
In case of GLASS fill with water
In case of WATER wear heavy boots
In case of HEAVY BOOTS assume foetal position
In case of FOETAL POSITION loosen clothing
In case of CLOTHING avoid nudist beach
In case of NUDIST BEACH keep sand out of eyes
In case of EYES close curtains
In case of CURTAINS switch on light
In case of LIGHT embrace truth
In case of TRUTH spread word
In case of WORD keep mum
In case of MUM open arms
In case of ARMS lay down gun
In case of GUN, fire
In case of FIRE break glass.
Vague Assumptions
I assume that the fire started before
the fire-brigade arrived
I assume that the neighbours did not put on pyjamas
and nightdresses to go out into the street
I assume that the woman is not in hysterics
because the policeman has his arms around her
I assume that the suicide note left by the arsonist
will not be found among the ashes
I assume that the siren’s wail has nothing to do
with the unhappiness of the ambulance
I assume that continentals drive on the right
because foreign cars have the steering-wheel on the left
I assume that wing mirrors are a godsend
to angels who care about good grooming
I assume that to a piece of flying glass
one eye is as good as another
I assume that if the sun wasn’t there for the earth to revolve around
there would be fewer package holidays
I assume that a suitcase becomes heavy
only when lifted
I assume that water boils
only when the bubbles tell it to
I assume that because the old lady died
the operation to save her life as a baby had not been successful
I assume that the bundle of rags asleep in Harrods’ doorway
is not queueing for the January sales
I assume that the people waiting in line for the DSS to open,
do not work there
I assume that the people lying on the floor of the bank
are not taking it easy
I assume that the hooded figure wielding a gun at the counter
is not opening an account
I assume that to claim the reward
one must hand over the kitten
I assume that the shopping-trolley on the beach
has not been washed ashore from a deep-sea supermarket
I assume that to achieve wisdom
one must arrive after the event
I assume that by the time you read this
I will have written it.
It’s a Jungle Out There
On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer
Take my advice and don’t travel by train
As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’
I’m not a man who will easily scare
But I’d rather lick maggots than get on a plane.
On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer.
Skateboards are lethal on top of a stair
A broken back means you’ll not walk again
As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’
When the sky turns purple better beware
Bacillus on the breeze and acid in the rain
On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer.
Avoid beef like the plague or your plague will be rare
Alcopops slowly eat away the brain
As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’
Don’t drink the water and don’t breathe the air
For the sake of the children repeat the refrain:
On leaving the house you’d best say a prayer
As Tarzan said to Jane, ‘It’s a jungle out there.’
Flight Path (9/11)
A nice day for breakfast outside. Well-practised,
by now, birds sing out the end of summer.
On the wall, a marmalade sphinx, unblinking
doesn’t miss a twitch in the garden.
In a hurry for Heathrow and bored,
a 747 scratches its dirty fingernails
down the clearblue, blameless sky.
We wince, the birds, the cat and I.
***
Across the pond, excited at the prospect ahead
they are up at first light and praying. The drive
out to Logan will be uneventful. At check-in
a girl will thank them and smile: ‘Have a nice day.’
Don’t Read All About It
He’s there everyday on the corner,
the Bad News Vendor. The latest editions
hot off the press, the blood not yet dry.
The headlines scream again of murder.
A six-year-old girl. Part of a city. A small
civilization. In vain, he cries out:
‘Don’t read all about it! Don’t read all about it!’
Survivor
Everyday
I think about dying.
About disease, starvation,
violence, terrorism, war,
the end of the world.
It helps keep my mind off things.
Everyday Eclipses
The hamburger flipped across the face of the bun
The frisbee winning the race against its own shadow
The cricket ball dropping for six in front of the church clock
On a golden plate, a host of communion wafers
The brown contact lens sliding across the blue iris
The palming of small change
Everyday eclipses.
Out of the frying pan, the tossed pancake orbits the Chinese lampshade
The water bucket echoing into the well
The black, snookering the cue ball against the green baize
The winning putt on the eighteenth
The tiddlywink twinkling toward the tiddlycup
Everyday eclipses.
Neck and neck in the hot-air balloon race
Holding up her sign, the lollipop lady blots out the Belisha beacon
The foaming tankard thumped onto the beermat
The plug into the plughole
In the fruit bowl, the orange rolls in front of the peach
Every day eclipses another day.
Goodbye bald patch, Hello yarmulke
A sombrero
tossed into the bullring
Leading the parade, the big bass drum, we hear cymbals but cannot see them
One eclipse eclipses another eclipse.
To the cold, white face, the oxygen mask
But too late
One death eclipses another death.
The baby’s head, the mother’s breast
The open O of the mouth seeking the warm O of the nipple
One birth eclipses another birth
Everyday eclipses.
The End
What I love about everyday
is the touch wood at bumping into one
What I hate about one
is bone, the finger pointing towards death
What I love about death
is the No, No, No, No it joyfully eclipses
What I hate about eclipses
is that one extinction may encourage another
What I love about another
is the hoary chestnut shared in the face of death
What I hate about death
is the lack of rehearsal time to perfect one
What I love about one
is lone, it begins and ends open-mouthed at birth
What I hate about birth
is the back-log of stars it invariably eclipses
What I love about eclipses
is the sure-as-eggs that one leads to another
What I hate about another
is the alter ego we might have been at birth