When there’s a spider
Who’s sat on your wall,
And the only thing for it
Is:
An empty glass,
A neat-enough envelope,
And a trip outside
The front door.

Does it know what it’s doing there?
Is it waiting to leave?
Did it sit and watch
From a different spot
As you drank
The last drop
Of that bottle
Of Merlot?

Did it curse
TV Licensing
For sending you
Letter
After
Letter
After
Letter?

Did it not run away
Because it’s Leeds-cold outside
And conserving warmth
In this weather
Is better?
I don’t know
If it’s not something
More than that.

“It’s a nice day.”
A nice day for:
Sitting on trains,
Watching cities
Pass (frame-by-frame)
Like animals
Running. Cities
Fading like songs
That make you SICK
(No-stalgia)
[Holding back tears].
Cities a grey
Only seen in:
Their own grey skies;
Your own grey eyes;
My own grey fears
As we lose years.
I always sit
Backwards on trains,
Watching each frame
Swallowed up by
The past (yours/mine/
Anybody’s).
Anonymous
Thinking takes place,
And each carriage
Carries its own
Special weight. Wait!
“It’s a nice day.”
A nice day for: