American Elections 2012

When Romney casts his vote, and Obama
dithers on his four-year trauma,
Why am I listening to Adele?
Am I some tree you wish to fell?

We've been too long;
I can't have some Romantic love song.
It hurts too much for this to besmirch
My memories.

I can't be arsed. You've had my heart,
Now relinquish my Nectar Card
'cos I’ve got points to spend
If our relationship's at its end?

So set me free, like a Butterfree,
So this pain can cease to hurt
me.



I own nothing but the sequence of words in this poem. Any reference to Pokémon or Sainsbury's is purely reverential. If offence is caused to either organisation is caused, please contact the publisher who will address all concerns.

The WINNER of this 'week's' prize will win a 'week-long trip to Barbados'!!! All expenses paid, all food, accommodation, travel expenses, cosmetic surgery, and anything else you would like! PLEASE contact this publisher!

There is no prize for this week. Anything read above is a lie. Please disregard. The publisher, and author, are not held to the above assertion. We are not affiliated with Sainsbury's, Barbados, Pokémon, or anyone else that this post may suggest we are. No-one associated with this post are bound to anything within it, ever.

Call Me If You're Sober

What?
Is wrong with this and us and here and now?
Can't we give it a chance, let Fate roll her dice?
Or should we bid goodbye tonight with a bow
Because you won't let us be 'us' or be nice
Enough to give us time to try to work.
Pots and pans clutter everyone's kitchens,
But does anyone blame it on the fork?
You don't need to change your life, your religion;
Can't we be a teenage crush or Summer fling?
It should be fun; no need for awkward sex.
Let's just party with friends and dance and sing,
Even if we argue once we're drunk on Becks.
But no. Maybe we should just stay as friends.
It would be nicer than some other ends.

Just for the record, I don't drink Becks. Vodka and coke is the prize for this week. Or a coke if youre a minor ;]

Left Inside Alone

I watch them as they enter, his
Knuckles white as he grips the
Handles of her wheelchair. In this
I glimpse their long history:

Years spent holding hands, chaste kisses
By the beach, children raised with
Love. I wonder if he misses
The long gone life they used to live.

They’d stay up late, talk through the night
Of their fantasies and fears
Till sun came up to shine its light
On their slowly drying tears.

Perhaps they argued, now and then,
Over who’d feed baby in
Dead of night, or who’d check again
Some silly, boring, trifling thing.

But that’s just the story for me and you;
He sits and feeds her tiramisu.


Any guesses for el title? The winner gets a coffee from Caffè Nero!