My Last Show

You’d spit in my beer if you could
but not whilst I’m up here
looking down on you
from behind this thin mic stand
that I hide behind

You could ask for your money back
Cos there ain’t enough laughs
but you don’t have the balls
being British and so polite –
even when fighting – stay quiet

and let me tell you how it is
as I try to extract a laugh from you
That way we’ll both feel better
about this cash-based relationship
You’re funnier on the telly!

This will be my last show – Ever!
and that gets me a huge laugh
When I get such a response
you know what – I’ll use it again
and again – and again

A Bull Ring Recital

Into God’s house below the Bull Ring –
it offers automatic doors
which open to a wild piano recital

before empty pews – set C of E stiff –
aligned and tuned to religious creaks –
here only stained sunlight warms

as fat chattering volunteers spit
in tongues – the pianist is subsumed
by her memory-art of ivories and wires

as half a dozen souls – hard seated –
do not dare shift lest it upsets
her selfless performance
which – when ends – is not applauded


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