Four Poems

Curios



Yes, isn't it. I kept it for the piper's face,

it held shortbread once, I think. My wife,

she had her button box and I my relic tin.



That blue pot's a Frinton souvenir,

used as an ashtray so they say.

Whose? Oh, just a man I knew.



These dried morels I found thriving in a shed

near our cottage on the Irish coast.

Those? Oh, just some old plum stones.



Now this betting slip is probably worth a bit.

See, on the back the pencilled scrawl?

That's Brownlee's leaving note. It explains it all.





Infamous



That night fame took liquid form,

arriving with the second round.

...