Two PoemsLager Advert
True-to-type tips of millet Are momentous.
Point blank into tussocks
We surround the billabong
By the stoop of fleabane glade –
To the telescoped peaks.
Each to each, us and them.
Slackening for lung-gulpsIn sun whacked minutes,
We touch down at the plinth.
There settles an amber lake
In a polyvinyl bucket,
A homely make-believe pond
From which to bend and swig.
Lager Diet Sport
Undimpled tins,
Glint-winky as clinking silver –
Bowled,
In-a-spin tins, clunked tins,
Sloshing through tenpin checkouts.