Hard Cs

Power always begins
With a strategist – who keeps

Wealth in the hand
That feeds him – heaps –

In his high chair. Pausing only
To throw scraps at the dogs –

He plays, and tinkers, shits,
And smiles and receives

Accolades that trigger
Public reaction – he farts.

The man is receiving a medal
On the other side – for services

Rendered, for keeping up with
The boys in their carts

Vast chunks of public loot
Adorns the walls, his best suit.

Meanwhile someone else
Is trying to live on credit

Having bought some food
And a few gifts for the baby.

Wondering if they’ll effing freeze,
Dry January means having nothing at all.



The fairy was past caring
and – half-dazed – smiled.
Captain America swung on his thread,
ready to catch her. It was a good idea
to put the tree near the window. See the crystals
catch the light and the clouds.

At night, I dream of you. You do what I do,
which is odd, but the brain gathers
and tends to both memory and fantasy the same.
Nobody thinks twice or makes sense.

Planes carry on taxiing down country lanes
trimming hedges with their wings.