Chops III

There has been a writing gap of around 6 weeks and, as I resume, some impetus gathered to make a better job of poems. The time was always now.  With a poem’s smack rocking in the troubled harbour of my creative mind, at last:  some quick work this morning.  Two poems, faintly like-blooded.

Frontier Girl

In black and white, Women of the Wild West
inhabit, by and large, a world of fur and blankets,
hair piled up and laughs piled on and all:
stiff resolution. Guns hitched-high for saddle work.

A brothel girl is shooting pool in wool fishnets
with bloomers to her thighs – a long limbed blonde and
                                                                        glorious,
more or less, the outdoor kind. Her looks are free,
I daresay wild.  She’d make an awesome granny.

The Job Hunt
University of Worcester: Creative Marketing Officer

I see a job for £30K, or roundabout,
enough to keep a man around that age, 30 odd,
in wine and clothes, available for love.

A bachelor is a happy thing,
not quite the finished article,
but, no doubt, he has the looks,
medium ambition, he might go far or might
become the comfortable one:
slow moving, good with children.

At this remove it appears to me, besides the work itself,
somewhere between Gorillas in the Mist,
Jane Austen.