Better

(after Leonard Cohen)

Better than the chaotic hunger

Of Brighton gulls

The ordered beachcombing pigeons

Of Villefranche-sur-mer

Better than noon sunshine

The early-morning light

And the buildings’ palette of whites,

Ochres, yellows and orange

Better than the bass tones

and wind-snatched muzak

the stereo-panned swish and swash

of the Mediterranean

Better than neatness

The secret order

Of organic growth

Better than a reality check

A fantasy boost

The Last Lines of Leonard Cohen

And this is the book

You get married

A single step

And there’s no one left in Hell

Jikan Eliezer

You’d sing too

You are listening to Radio Resistance

They’ve wanted all these years

And raising kids

Better and better

Is a comb

My turn to resurrect

I prefer my stuff to theirs

In other little ways

The patient forgets to suffer

“Do not kill”

Why should I want to smile forever

Over my enormous hard-on

Old Jikan smoking

Apologies

Apologies from Sarah. It’s her throat.

Not just the karaoke and the booze.

It is the ‘flu’. And Mindy’s sent a note

Her mother’s had some tests. Might be bad news. 

I’m on my hols in Lanzarote. Well

Yes, yes, the conference... But half-price flights?

The secretary, Cath, who makes the coffee,

Is at the school. Her Zeb’s been in another fight. 

You’ll have to write the minutes. Tom (tall guy – HR)

Has e-mailed his report. He’s on a course

Eighteen holes (his little joke). Bill’s crashed his car.

And Natalie has fallen off her horse. 

Clare has run off with the caretaker, and so

There’s only you. Please, turn the lights out when you go.

Moth

Four in the morning

I am naked

Watching the jet-black moth

On the white bathroom tiles

Unfold its wings

And take off

Seven forty five

In bed, a cup of coffee by my side

I am writing this poem

My wife appears, naked

Her hands cupped

I open the window

We release it to the wild