Author Archives: colinhopkirk

and then they disappearwatching us is hardwe watch the guardstheir comings and goingswatch without watchingtill something shiftsall hell breaks looseand some poor sodgets busted ribsgets broken teethgets theirsand those of us who carewho think we carebut dare not saybriefly lookbefore we look away

I used to be in the fruit and veg gameNo, Reg, you worked at ASDAbut I worked on the fruit and vegYes, Reg, you worked on the fruit and vegthe fruit and veg at ASDA

‘I can’t sit downI can stop, meonce I get goingI’ve got to finishget the job doneall in one goI don’t know whyit’s just the way I amsome kind of human dynamo’

he appears in fragmentsthe Burma Star Memorial Fundseeking to verify himmembership number W/789/56Sgt VSM Wheeler, deceased1st Gloucestershire Regiment, 1939-42, and then9th Gurkha Rifles, Corps of Clerks, 1942-44(captured, he worked the railwayfound God inside a jungle)there, in the local raghis ordination, Durham, 1950the Reverend Vere Stewart Manton Wheelerto give him his full monikera few short linesContinue reading “BURMA STAR”

(West Bank 2024) with a little landan outbuilding or twoa small orcharda handful of fig treesa few vinessome hensa goat or twoand a familyall in one place

on the back of the t-shirtof the woman at the barwho should have been swimmingbut worked too late tonight

‘you can’t drink real alefrom a plastic glasseven a plastic glass that’s harda glass that looks like real glassit isn’t rightit’s wrong, really wrongit’s not just wrongit’s an abomination’

if it’s a bout churchesthen it’s duskdusty hassocksdust in the vestrydamp stoneflaking lime-washfoxed paperburnt waxfont and pulpita tired organa brass crossbells, of coursecolumns, the roofan upturned boatand woodwood in the pewsperhaps a rood screena padlocked boxslate and leadand lightstreaming lightcoloured and plainChristopher carries the childacross the torrentMary simpersAngels wield sword and flame

there, in the front pewdressed in his Sunday suitgrieving his grandmotherwearing her silver crossshaking, wrecked by it alland I think, poor little bastardas I watch him drowningrivers of tearsrivers and riversbecoming a flood

a passing car hootsthe pub slowly emptyingas moody Bob, angsty BobHighway 51 Bobserenades the leaversand the lonely barmancollecting emptieswho likes the anger in the songthe slacknesshow it only just holdsturns the organ parts up to tenbut doesn’t care for the harmonicaBob’s annoying suck and blowwould miss it at allthinks, artistically, it’s all a bit youContinue reading “AN HOUR BEFORE THE FOOTY”