Some Poems in February.

Graffiti in toilets

Believe it or not, you can learn a lot

about life from the graffiti in toilets.

What better place to say what’s on your mind

To read when pissing, in a small space confined?

 

‘Prove to me God exists.’

‘Prove to me he doesn’t!’ A rebuffal

Precise, although unfair – and could only be found in the library bogs.

Clearly some of these places have had talent come to visit – a poet or artiste,

Clearly implementing two instruments at once

And dashing them both over the walls.

 

This is meant to be a public space,

So why do they humiliate us when we need it the least?

So now, I’ll have forever etched in my head: ‘Bi lad? Cock fun? 0752010882’ – one number too short.

‘Hull FC til I die!’ is all well and good, but what am I supposed to do with ‘only dead fish swim with the stream’?

Now I never trust a man carrying a pen round’ in his back pocket.

 

It is a bizarre thing, the graffiti, and the things I have learned,

they leave me wondering to myself:

What are the ladies toilets like?

 

Office Party

 

Tim

Tim is here, with his yellow lager beer

Around about, looking 10 year old boy scout,

Why can’t we just be adults for three nights a year,

Drinking here’s allowed – don’t get too loud n’ proud

 

Funny renaissance dance, Fizzy wine from France

Can’t we do some work? You’re 40, please stop

The flirt – and the scandal office kiss, stand

In yellow lager piss

Tim Tim is near, let’s quickly disappear.

 

Laugh at the boss, his jokes and the dross

Talking here and there, but no politics do share

When can we have the dance off, the hangover begin

It’s the office party joys, no hint of chagrin!

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