Your colour schemes delight.

Someone has complained of the beach weed stench –

this beach stinks

is etched into a bench.

Next to this someone has penned

for consideration

You a bitch and yo mum is a fish

•

The queue for chicken bones, the hound shite footprints,

the coven of the blameless,

detail the carpet, the sand and the pavement.

 And the receptionist’s

smile is strapped to her face. Trapped

behind glass, she asks

passers-by for coins to heat her bedsit

in the Outer Hebrides,

and coffers for St. Paul, the oven of Treblinka.

•

I’m told the magazines in the dentist were

once, almost always

or mostly, in date.