On Church Street

Shortly after closing time
outside my unknown church -
feeling a stone's frore
off dead men and women
upright as chiselled recalls

and staring - all - in disbelief
at that zealous parish priest
who dolls up as a spectre
A welcome departure
from his-biking leathers?

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Temperature At Thirty Three

Our shaded half
hides me from heat
Year in and out
we seek a shelter

My solution
is to meet curtains
right before
sunrise and shut

out each degree
increment of hate
and stupor
in this house

whilst others fling
and swing - by hinges -
openings to
let warm winds in . . .

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The Mother-in-law Joke

She then struck out
with an open hand
to land callouses
and a creased palm
flat and fast across
my unshaven cheek

Unexpectedly received -
her flesh-reddening hate
applied five digits wide -
a gold ring-smacked slap -
it was my mother-in-law's
barely risible routine

All because my . . .

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