Strange disco couple

She was blonde and beautiful,

slim and tanned and busty.

'She' was older, overdressed,

bony faced and paunchy.

She swayed and shimmied like a star

smiling at her audience.

'She' stumbled clumsy in the bar

out of step with the ambience.

She tolerated wandering hands;

'she' clasped her in the evening's plans

hoping later to have laid her ?

I wonder how much 'she' paid her.

I think I'm better looking than him

and certainly more muscular;

probably more intelligent,

more funny, less crepuscular.

So why has she gone off with him

and given me the cold shoulder ?

I've even got more money than him

because I'm so much older !

Road Hog

Just above the horizon and aiming at me

on a cloudless summer night with nothing hidden,

the full moon shone full beam the road ahead.

Of course I dipped my lights but the damn moon didn't.

Would you like a poem? What would it say?

That the waves in your hair make reason sway?

And your smiling eyes drive sense away?

And is that all?

Should you have a poem, what would it mean?

Me far too eager, much too keen,

my feelings tangled like never been?

But if feelings pall?

When you get your poem, what will it do?

Probably not endear me to you.

Nor to your feelings give any clue.

Best have no poem at all

Interlude

"Why does my shit stink?" he asked politely.

"Don't swear." she said, "The word to use is faeces."

"Oh" he hesitated "Or poo perhaps?"

"Too childish, dear, although appropriate.

You're old enough to use more adult words.

But it's a sensible question nonetheless.

I presume it's all to do with your evolution.

It smells so bad so that you don't ingest it.

So that you're very careful to avoid it."

"What does 'ingest' mean?"  "Well, eat,

or somehow get it in your mouth." she said.

"I see. So people whose shit didn't stink -

sorry, faeces, would sometimes ingest it

and get ill and die and fail to breed."

"Yes, something like that. Perhaps." she added.

"And now get back to that evolution homework

that you're avoiding, by going to the toilet."

"And we're evolved from all the stinky people

and all the nice-smelling ones just went extinct."

"I hope you washed your hands. Goodbye."

Spider

One day I noticed a spider in the kitchen

crawling along the tiled window sill.

Now I value spiders as predators on the flies

which often infest my indoor flower plants

and I watched with interest to see what it was doing.

But I couldn't tell where it was going or why.

It halted when it came level with the sink

and turned to face over the edge of the sill.

Motionless it seemed to be peering down

as if on a cliff above the rocks below.

Still it didn't move. Taking time to think?

Decide? Oh, my god, a suicide?

Surely there's some pleasure still to come

in life. Family somewhere? Friends? Or none !

Don't do it. You're so tiny. You'll never survive.

Or is that part of the problem? An inferiority . . .

And then it jumped. But horizontally !

Across the gap between the sill and the cloth

draped over the tall vertical water faucet.

Before it vanished in the fabric, I swear its jaws

moved. I think it said "Up yours".

Cameras could capture it;

even painting probably so;

memory re-imagine it;

words unforunately no.

Another blue sky summer sunset

sifting down to ochre glow

like winter sitting room coal fire

bedtime dying long ago.