A Love Story

He was a baker,

She was gluten-free,

By all accounts

Their love

Was never meant to be.

 

Each day the baker

Felt keenly her lack;

Why, in God’s name,

Did he

Love a coeliac?

 

But then the baker,

Sick of being glum,

Baked a new bread

Of brown rice flour

And xanthan gum.

 

She bought the whole loaf,

Dispelling his woes,

And ate it unbuttered

(Being, as she was,

Averse to lactose).

 

But now the milkman,

Ostensibly coy,

Makes his own play,

Stocking,

I hear, ten pints of soy.

Some Things I Like About You

Some things I like about you:

I like that in the past 

We’ve probably crossed paths 

And can laugh about that now.

I like that you’ve roved 

To the other side of the globe 

But build your Hadrian’s Wall

At Newcastle.

I like that you don’t stroll 

Without a definite goal 

In whose direction to direct your sole.

I like that you compare it to skiing.

I like that I smile before seeing 

You, and all the way through.

I like that you look like Oona Chaplin.

I like grappling with you on destiny 

And knowing you’ll get the best of me.

I like that your eyes dilate with late light

I like 

But to like more would be treason:

I call them Shorter Poems for a reason.

Friday Night

Things to observe when you next go clubbing:

Pre-cooked boy with the python eyes.

Reptilian man tastes pressure.

Gay friend plays the boyfriend disguise.

Ascents like an M.C. Escher.

Pretty girl shirking with a cheek,

Too meek to stamp or claw an eye.

He cradles into her tired week

And moves his hands down to her sly.

 

All this you’ll see and waive, because

Mate, honestly, I was so waved.