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Bob Young

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
ones looks
and number twos charm
and last,
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

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