Living roughly, on Diamond Road,
Middle England, Middlesbrough,
Where slapped doors, painted red,
Mark you out, for the foul-demurrer..
Andy Dog has died.
Some Bizzare (sic)
art worked-hard:
Pen-stroked, sweet-bird..
Elbow-greased hooks:
I stood nervous, plan-wrought;
Local endeavour,
on hired-in winches…
Another ninety year old’s
Birthday soon,
A decade short
Of a card from the Queen
…..
Here, now,
my diurnal ritual,
Rhyme-rammed verse,
freely posted to all..
Finitude – the place you need find on earth,
in every breath, from your fixed date of birth..
Thirty nine percent
of Tory MPs,
Currently rent-out
second properties..
It is the thing we make our parents do,
Or do to them: mortal-shuffle-moves,
To sheltered, or ‘down-sized’ flats:
We clear out all the past they had
…..
It’s a high step up – his studio’s tread –
solid after my slip on loose-stoned land –
no ducking – the glass door – open ahead —
Here – picture-galleried – engravings hang —
…./