Heidelberg 

Mac runs past, a Woodbine
hanging from his lips, ash
on his foreman’s white overall,
his face red, sweating. Brian
catches my eye, shakes his head.
It’s only nine o’clock.
I set up the Heidelberg, load
the envelopes, roll a cigarette.
Bill the Cutter’s half
a finger is giving him grief.
‘How’s it going Bill?’
‘Mind your own business.’
I hum something from Basket of Light
then ‘Get Back’ comes on the radio.
I can see Barry, daydreaming
about motorbikes,
on his bench a cartoon
of Himmler in a butcher’s apron
shouting with a cleaver.
I’ve nicked his Stanley knife.
I’m negotiating with Neville
for the moped that I will wreck
one night on Habberley Estate.
I don’t signal, take the force
of the bumper with my leg
turning right with rain
in my eyes.

Cliff Yates