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Every morning He leaves for work And clocks in at eight - Like clockwork. He makes the same number Of gizmos today As yesterday, Eats two sandwiches And a bag of crisps, Then leaves the orange for later. He’ll clock out at 5 And head home To watch soaps on TV. On Friday nights he Meets his mates, They drink and wind Each other up, Until the week turns Into hazy hollow memories. Saturday is Lotto day. When he wins, he’ll buy A huge shed and spend Each day in there Making gizmo

Her Pitman’s Shorthand Certificate Was the passport out of Smalltown And the master key through Myriad office doors and hotel bedrooms - A long life of loyal service. Her title was not just Miss, It was ‘ The Indispensable Miss…’ The Most Efficient Miss…’   or her favourite ‘ The One Who Keeps Us All In Line  …’ Could she have married? Perhaps, the Greek shipping magnate, The famous surgeon or the Over-suave Permanent Secretary, They did all promise - Just forgot to divorce

We return William To you. Your little demon Now swinging From a stick. Painstakingly wrapped In luscious black And sealed In a Wrought case. Leaden, Glistening.   Now, Don’t you Feel safer? Salved? Satisfied? So grateful That so far This isn’t you?   Watch him Creak and sway. Counting The moments That he  Is dead And you Are alive. He is your warning! The tides And moon Will offer him Deep reflection. So you Must also learn A lesson ...   We have   Everything   Under   Contro

That Lad There breaks away from the rest, Time to sign on. A woman with a doughy complexion ticks some boxes, But doesn’t look up. Nothing to see? he stares down  at his own feet. Until he can leave. A picture the charity shop window catches his eye, A Northumbrian castle. There are medieval knights in armour defending their king. He has those skills. He can fight, he would save the day and be important, Attract fair maidens. He focuses back and sees his drained reflection, t