A pack of razors – Bic (they leave me smooth);
those pink wax strips she likes (we depilate
together as a couple); One light bulb
(the one that’s in the bathroom stall has blown);
the sausages our dog won’t vomit up;
a tube of teething gel to soothe our boy;
the toilet paper that I will forget
in all the detail of my daily life
and suffer for. Why do I fail to heed
the simple rise and fall of household goods?
Each day I take down notes, and add new steps
on scraps of envelopes and torn-up bills
like playing Chopsticks but each day anew.

Image: CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) courtesy of Jake Melara,


Yet this, too, will pass



The summer sky began,

they sought to keep us out,

five kids confined to grounds,

white gloss paint on our hands.


Sometimes, a slipping starts.

The clouds delight the lost.

Where did it go, that time,

that sun-drunk confidence?


I walk the borders, mow,

maintain the privet hedge,

and fund horizons now

for taxmen, shrinks, and quacks.


Image: CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) courtesy of

In the style of … The Charge of the Light Brigade



Teacher week, teacher week
Teacher week trundled.
“We are that young girl’s folks,”
Said that sweet couple.
“Naughty, your daughter is.
Shot out her snot,” we said.
“Yes, she is ours,” sighed they,
Sighed that sweet couple.

“Naughty, your daughter is.
Expelled her yesterday
After a scuffle.”
We are in trouble now
We are in puppy chow
We ought to take a bow.
“Yes, we are Peach’s folks,”
Said that sweet couple.

Critics to right of them,
Critics to left of them,
Critics in front of them,
Harried and fuddled,
Suffering the hue and cry,
Hearing the groans and sighs,
“That’s not how we see Peach,”
She’s not the type to fight.”
Said that sweet couple.

Burned up the class report
Burnt as the papers caught
Classics her teachers taught,
Flicking her boogers then
At the class dumbstruck.
Threw out the teacher’s cane
Straight through a window pane;
Class pet and bully
Ran from this classy dame
Spat on and humbled.
“No,”They said. “It can’t be.
She’s our true double.”

Critics to right of them,
Critics to left of them,
Critics behind them
Harried and fuddled,
Suffering the hue and cry
Out came their stubborn pride,
That they would not confide
All for the love of Peach,
“She’s not the type to fight,”
All that was left inside,
Left of that couple.

Why can’t they simply nod?
Accept this child, their sprog.
All the world wondered.
Clean up the snot she flicked,
Clean up their daughter’s shit,
Not that proud couple.

Image: CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) courtesy of

Top Five Fantasy Advice in I


1) If skin is pink with itchy zits, dip in illicit sticky lich.

2) If killing imps with shivs brings ill, insist it’s simply skill.

3) If night wights fright, try fighting lit in high bright lights.

4) If djinn blight whist with hissy fits, try stripping tricks with drink.

5) If this infirm griffin dips in flight, clips its wings, its wit, its mind.

Coming Attraction


The barker in a cowboy hat declares
an animal is like a vice:

you clamp it tight, or else it spins right off
like women.

Grandpa laughs, and grandma tuts.
Cut to the chase, the lion seated, roars

inside the sidecar round the Wall of Death.
Cue jeering faces peering from above,

and grandpa with his corn dog, wonder-struck
the way he was inside the bridal suite

his head aroar with hurdy-gurdy thought.
He spins the ring, his final sticking point.