Mould green fairly liquid
count to a hundred
I hear the sound
dididum dididum
of distant bums
over there
…………Over there
in the long dark
playground of the
soul the hands
that judicious
glow soft as your
face down porridge
lanes of Windscale
fruit and nut case
up up and
…………scrub
away scrub
…………Away
in my beautiful
my bootiful
baboon that
tastes like
chocolate never
tasted you hum it
sun I’ll play it do
the shake ‘n’ peel it
with their mettle
coming ready or
not down brown
loaf cobbles here’s
the Hussars 1819 &
tig you’re
knives
Steve Waling