Fighting the Flat
It’s a vague summer’s night
In this damp concrete cage
Where the light creeps and crawls
Like an undulating beast.
My wife drinks Prosecco
From a battered Stanley cup
Curled up by the wall,
Always by a wall.
There’s a vivid TV set,
Jousting with the moon,
Poking at my bones.
I smoke Superkings—fistfuls,
Glowing in the gloom
And I formulate a plan
To set the flat on fire,
Then dream of outer-space.
Diplomacy
I’m a diplomat for eastern moods
And long-distance calls.
I barter with the tourists
In airports
Overdubbed with German
Laughing through the fog.
Come to me and groan,
Roast your native flags,
Then sink into a bath.
Listen to the waves
In high rise ghetto blocks
And slip your headphones on.
That’s the sound of freedom flashing
In coded rhythmic claps—
Just don’t forget my name.
Take this situation:
Stuck in blistered traffic
Everybody spits
In fake contagious comas.
I seize a peace agreement
From the fists of certain doom.
I’m a genuine pro-wrestler
An actor on the stage,
Give me all your money,
I won’t forget your name.