Animals

Animals:

Why are they here?

To take over when we’re gone,

Turn back the clock?

They haven’t forgiven us

For acting smart,

Reforming the wild;

They’re lying in wait,

Lurking in jungles and zoos,

Ready to strike.

Pets aren’t as cute as we think;

They’ll have first pick

When civilization ends;

Get to the larder quick

Before the wolves arrive.

Noah should have filled the Ark

With flowers instead.

They don’t bite;

You can stick them in a vase,

Watch them fade,

Write poems in recompence.

So, watch out!

It’s not just rats.

That horse wants more than oats;

That worm knows more than we guess;

That swan has ‘previous’.

If you see bears in Oxford Street,

They’ll be shopping for human coats.

Now Look

It used to be goals and girls:

Who scored in extra time.

You were always in for a laugh.

Brawls didn’t start

Till you turned up.

Together, we kicked ass,

Breaking laws even

The judge hadn’t heard of;

Not giving a fig leaf for taste,

Tradition, temperance,

What passes for truth;

Spitting in society’s face

And not missing

Once.

Now, look at us,

Chatting away in Sainsbury’s,

Like a couple of eejits.

Discussing world events

Like what’s cooking for lunch

Or which cat food is best;

Our trolleys bright

With ideas.

Not trading recipes, not yet

Just idle chat

About things we used to mock,

Aloof from the herd,

The dullness we feared,

Never dreaming the suburbs

Would one day come to us.

What a waste!

But then,

Have you seen the price

of tea bags lately?

Dead Reckoning

Living near a graveyard

Sounded a good idea:

Not far to walk

If you need fresh air.

Stones don’t depress me;

It’s people that do.

There are far too many

And they look like you.

With the dead,

You know where you are:

They understand

What silence means;

Yet don’t complain

If you hold wild parties,

Or scream in the rain.

The odd ghost you meet

On those cemetery strolls

Where life appears abstract

Is strangely polite.

Even the headless ones

Raise their hats.

Spooks can be obliging

With directions

(Where am I buried?);

And endlessly patient,

Knowing (unlike us)

That time leads nowhere,

And worrying’s no use.

Their jokes aren’t as funny,

But that's no excuse.

Bearing Up

The Eighties were great,

Forging money all week;

Swilling Krug by the magnum

On wild city nights.

Where has it all gone, you ask,

As you gaze at your estate?

In the bath at noon,

Feeling my weight:

Time brings on questions

The butler can’t help.

He claims ignorance, like the masses,

Staring down with the drinks;

Surveying my splendour

With no hint of reproach.

Things aren’t so bad,

Though the poor still complain,

Crying at the gates.

You can hear them at night,

If the peacocks let up.

Vigil

I count the funerals

One by one,

Waiting for time to end.

The guest list

Shrinks,

While longevity brings

The advantage of repentence.

If you beat me to

The Promised Land,

Save some manna for me.

I loved you,

But you couldn’t stay.

Morituri te salutant

Lullaby

Before archaeology,

A baby’s cry

Split time.

Before fire

Or conscious thought,

Language of any kind,

A cry

Before sound

Became word.

Clear yet

Untranslatable

(language is not yet born),

No echo, but

The original

Atavistic urge

That brings us rushing

To the cradle.

Party for One

You like to drink alone,

You say,

With just a mirror or two

For company.

No one complains,

Which makes sense

If there’s no one around.

A party for one

sounds fun.

It’s select:

The only bouncer is you;

You double as barman, drunk,

Barfly and guest,

Downing your own cocktails

In infinite space.

All that room

And no need to share it:

A solipsist by choice,

Millionaire of emptiness.

Like champagne in the rain,

It might catch on,

If all your friends leave town

At once;

Or you never had any

In the first place.

And then I came along

And ruined it all

By ringing the door bell.