Tristan Hazell lives and works in the shadow of the Westway on Portobello Road. What follows is a collection of observations, reviews, social comment, fiction, poetry, art criticism and more. Much of it is fiction and some of it will offend someone somewhere, I hope.

Monday, February 16, 2015

If I were a poet.

If I were Pam Ayres
I'd rhyme bloater with a
new coat her
brother bought her
to go to the palace
to pick up her gong
for rhyming bloater with a coat her
brother gave her
but Laurie Lee ate.

If I were Mcgonagall
I'd jump in front of the train
before it got to the bridge.

If I were Ted Hughes
I'd have left Sylvia too
I'd have left her to the crows.

If I were Bukowski
I'd have drunk more
and written less.

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