The Pat on the Shallow Back
A cat screamed. I hoped for my little one. Knowing that he, my friend, Andy Williams and that last book I read didn't have a chance in hell of winning.
THE LAST NIGHT BEFORE WE FLEW TOGHETHER
I turned off the TV. The radio was better. Nights like these needed the radio. I dressed for bed, another drink and fag.
The remarkable move
My cats look at me, wanting fresh tuna and not 'Nettos Home Beef and Jam in Jelly'.
Tonight we become/It's the only way to be played/1970
She wanted the baby of her dreams
and number twos charm
as always, me.
Reading the worst book ever on Sunday of all days & other poems
The night/ Itself was little more than a warm-up -/ I drank/ They laughed/ I drank/ They kept up/ I drank/ The last few just smiled