Found

.I drive down one of the backroads of desolation, full moon in my eyes, when I see him, shuffling along, hands in pockets.

Hop in, I say..

Are you still whoring with yr other voices? he asks.

Nah, I say. I was trying them on. They didn’t do it for me. You’re the one I want.

It sounds like a song.

Would you like me to sing it?

With your voice? No thanks.

I was sorta lost, I say. You’re my natural voice. Demotic, lyrical at times, a little looney.

You’re my man, my voice says, hopping in, giving me a manly hug.

We drive on, slow, easy, companionable, the full moon in our eyes.

• pic courtesy of pinterest

On the Nose

You don’t see many poems celebrating the sense of smell.

Sight rules the roost, cock-a-doodles its pre-eminence

on every page; the nose rarely gets a look-in.

An anthology of ‘Smell’ poems would be very thin indeed

and would be ‘on the nose’ for most readers.

I haven’t had a whiff of a good smell poem for years.

• I can’t think of a single poem celebrating the sense of smell, can you?
• have you written a short poem, perhaps a funny one, on smells you could put in the comments column for the delight of readers?
• have you a vivid memory of a particular smell?

Here’s Another Nice Mess You’ve Gotten Yourself Into

after deserting me for a few days

my editor has a change of heart

and decides to return.

Yay! I say to myself.

Says he’s been reading my posts, and how I’ve been floundering without him.

You’ve pulled three posts in two days, he says. You’re sinking.

I know, I say, hanging my head in shame.

Look, he says. It’s no good fighting it. We’re a team. Conjoined twins if you like.

Like Laurel and Hardy? I suggest.

He smiles.

Same arrangement? I say.

Yes, he says. You write. I clean up the mess.