When there’s a spider
Who’s sat on your wall,
And the only thing for it
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

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
[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/
Thinking takes place,
And each carriage
Carries its own
Special weight. Wait!
“It’s a nice day.”
A nice day for: