ate our sandwiches sitting
on the steps leading up to
the art gallery
it’s a matter of taste, she says

love museums full of stone age
artefacts, the odd roman sandal or two
and victorian pottery, and all
those insects skewered beneath glass cases
not solved by pulling faces
at what our ancestors got up to

can’t see a way out at all
     wherever one looks there’s just wall
    and yes, one solitary gate
      whereby they gather to await
    the old fool

most people around here
take democracy for
granted they vote for the fascist  ..

old bloke in the pub says
buy me a pint and I’ll be grateful
for ever mate, neither of us
have got that long       ..

the pub at lunchtime
is quiet, he says,
I’m eating

this is all knew
I’d find it odd
my dear