The Dance

I dance with the young woman in my small, local supermarket

Always elegant with her shining nails.

We shimmy around each other our distance metered

As she sets free my wine, 

Her looking calm, fabulous,

Me half crazed, unwashed,

Proving that self service is not something I can manage,

Not before, not now, and assumedly not ever.

The Sherry Adventure

When we get to the other side I will go on a Sherry adventure with Hassan and Claire.

I have planned a route – a  mini booze festival to take over a weekend,

Sherry and Tapas in every port as we play Russian roulette with gout.

Come join us for the whole, part, or tail of this exploit

We will start genteenly, discussing fragrance, mellowness and hue.

Is it dry and strong, or heavy and sweet? Or just extremely indifferent? 

On to the middle part, eyes blurred, words slurred,

But everything absolutely to the point, remarkable in context and depth of meaning

Here we will know more than the bodegas, producers of this amber fluid.

And now the final part of the experience in which we forget to eat, and lose our notes.

Everyone is our friend – they just don’t know it yet. Our teeth are on edge with sugar overdoses,

And kebab cravings transcend the warmth of Spanish delicacies we devoured before.

When we get to the other side I will go on a Sherry adventure with Hassan and Claire.

Until then I will reread the map and add to our plans.

Sherry and Tapas in every port as we play Russian roulette with gout.

Bring On The Bez

And now Bez is on the internet 

Helping us to shape up.

Famed for shaking maracas whilst dancing ecstatically 

He is now our 2021 vision of hope

The last thing left in Pandora’s box.

Can we send in The Bez to sort the virus out now?

To shake away the mutations?

To follow Boris about his business

Rattling maracas at him when he refuses to ensure adequate PPE

Or feed children,or when he allows Rees Mogg out of his coffin.

Like the ghost of Jacob Marley sent to reform Scrooge 

He could follow Pritti about 

Pointing his musical implements at her when she slags off refugees

And shouts at her staff

Can he make her find each of the lost 400,000 crime records?

When Hancock pretends to cry 

The Bez could rattle in his ears until he sobs

And learns what tears really are

And actually laments, realising that as Health Secretary 

He is paid to look after the nation’s health.

The Bez could recruit Witty to his cause

Twisting Chris’s melon while they talk so hip.

Gyrating around the podium 

Challenging the misquotes and lies

Through the power of dance. 

So you carry on Bez.

You be that shining light through this vitriolic virus.

You be our mascot

Whilst we get ready to buzz with you.

Let’s bring on The Bez.

Aly Smith  Jan. ‘20

My Neighbour Left Us Today

My neighbour left us today.

She left in a brown wooden box

The road partially blocked 

Whilst buses mounted pavements

To slip past at their own funereal pace.

My neighbour left us today.

A pocket of grief on our street 

A sad bubble around her door

Whilst normal life surrounds it,

Letters posted, coffees purchased.

My neighbour left us today.

I didn’t know her name until this morning

When the flowers spelt it out 

Whilst we had spoken we never exchanged much.

She was Iris.

Iris left us today.

A.Smith March 25th 2021

All The Time in the world

We had all the time. 

All the time in the world.

A time to watch opera, study history, hone our art practice

To grow our intellect, write a symphony, a novel, bake bread

Work out a way to live off-grid whilst studying Buddhist literature to transcend into a state of calm and higher meaning. 

Instead we turned on the TV and were transported to the best and the worst places in America.

We became strangely addicted to the novelty of the new,

Discovering absolute beauty and equal amounts of ugliness.

The star-spangled exploits of Joe Exotic the Tiger King engaged us with a jaw-dropping alacrity we never knew was in us. 

Him battling a messiah-like woman over who truly loved the feline carnivores the most. 

In the Louisiana  swamp, Troy Landry, accompanied by his lucky shirt

Calls “Choot ‘Em’’ as he wrestles 12ft alligators and refuses to call his colleague by her chosen name,

Sons and Fathers joined in the fight of persecuting lizards and the joy of squirrel eating. 

And then the chase for Bigfoot.

A reality TV show with hunting on its mind.

A million dollars to tag a monster that is peaceful in his lair but always manages to be one step ahead of our valiant Sasquatch pursuants.

And then the sheer magnificence and romance of John.

A life spent trying to contact aliens which ends up with him having and holding a love so true and so human it makes you wonder why the unknown have not moved in.

And all the crime. True, made up and unsure. 

Please contact us if you need an elite team of Behavioural Specialists, Naval Investigators, Dinosaur Hunters or Paranormal Detectives. 

We have watched them all and could walk an FBI entrance exam. 

We may not have studied enough to give you answers to the philosophical dilemmas of the day 

But yet, we know how to track a cryptid, catch a croc and badly run a big cat park.

And we would not have missed the love story of John and John, which hands down, one hundred percent, truly and utterly beat writing that symphony.