Can Arrow?
From the burning nortons of the dry salvages
He slips in sidey-ways to grace my pages.
He’s tickled my fancy and he’s pleasured me
Since God replaced his pretty little butter-brain with Brie
And spread it on a cracker with swipe, swipe, flourish
To feed my sense of humour with a nibble and a nourish
Till it slips from my fingers like a hot hash brown
And collapses on the carpet with its cheese-side down
And Butter-Fingers giggles like a trickle down a drain
“Ho-ho – I told you so” again and again.
Birthday poem for a friend – better than a cake –
N-n-n-n-nineteen? – do a double-take.
Inviting acquaintances to cocktails at Lalage’s
To feast on their foibles and enjoy their allergies?
He’s a shit-hot critic and he shoots from the hip
"And he “Walters” his zinnias with a drip drop drip"
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