The Tourist

To the tourist trespassing
Taking selfies on the stairs
During a fire safety
Evacuation drill:

Were you perhaps trying
To capture the moment
Before you were pushed
For documentary posterity?

Or were you born supplied
With a camera on a stick
Inserted somewhere sweaty?
Whichever; I hope

The gentle smack
Of an irate Fire Warden
To the back of your empty head
Rearranged your somewhat

Selfish priorities
Although I don’t doubt
We will receive your
Carelessly written complaint

Citing unfair treatment
In due course.
I do look forward to writing
An appropriate response.

A Capital Man

Our bold Mayor of London
In spite of his burdens
Has chosen to cross
To the North bank again

The party political
Must have been calling
For stickier wickets
Inside number ten.

Conservative tastes
And the right education
Would make him a candidate
Proud to display

Strong family values…
Unchecked dedication
To national causes
That brook no delay.

He plots to return
To his life in the fast lane –
Trade in the bike for a
Chauffeur and Jag

No skimming the fine print
For that would be cheating
And soon on the map
He’ll be planting his flag.

Alas, the election
Requires some sacrifice
Two hefty titles
To shoulder at once

But that shouldn’t be hard
For a Machiavellian
Spinner of dreams
Used to acting the dunce.

So he’s setting his cap
At those hard-to-reach voters
More mums on the run
Far too busy to check

If this scruffy buffoon’s
Just an overgrown schoolboy;
The first among men,
Or a knife to the neck.

Growing Pains

The times are a changing
I know this is true
My youth passed unnoticed
You grew older too
We’ve shared much of life
Laughed and cried as was due
Now I find that I’m ready
To settle for you.

The wandering eyes
Itchy feet and all that
Which was part of my younger days
I will give back.
Now my passport and heels
I will trade for a flat
With your socks on the floor
Perhaps even a cat.

My roving days over
I’m settling down
No longer for clover
Must I go cross-town.
If I promise to nevermore
Wear this red gown
Will you swear to me never
To cause me to frown?

We’re wrinkled, well-travelled
And long overdue.
It’s time we grew up
And responsible too.
If you’re good to me
I’ll be so good to you
With a cooker, a car
And an en-suite for two…

Di A(na) Bolique

What are we to do these days?
Eating is our latest craze.
People suffer dreadful guilt
Over sustenance they’ve spilt.
Yet food is not in short supply
So I don’t understand the why:
Some stuff their faces, comforting
While others starve just to stay thin!
No, I just cannot fathom it
Such depth of feeling over shit.
Where once we ate to stay alive,
Fed our bodies to survive;
Now boutique-style, we pick and choose
And body-mass we vow to lose.
Each New Years Eve that comes and goes,
We weigh ourselves and try on clothes
To chart our progress over time
And wail about our new waistline.
I’ll never get the reason why
Some choose to eat and some to die.