A Concrete Pond

A concrete pond in a torrid city drowning in rage. Harsh and pitiless. The skirl of sirens   defiled our ears. The water’s foetid spurned by mallards, no kids dib their nets through floating debris.   She gave my hand, a comforting squeeze.  I squeezed hers back. ‘This was a lake. There used to be willows.’   ‘Did you fish

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Smack Your Bloke Up

If I growled, “You are asking for a wallop, for me to thrash your face into a pulp, now shut your bagel-hole, you vole-brained trollop,” so my marshmallow of desire should gulp, the sisterhood would gather for the lynch since it’s a sin to turn your lover victim, to reduce your sweetheart to a flinch. But Man has cause to

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Good morning

  ‘Good morning sir Your face looks so familiar.’ The man smiles. ‘Ah! You belong to my WhatsApp group I must have seen you there.’ ‘No’ ‘Then you must be with me on LinkedIn, FB, or on Twitter’ ‘No, not either.’ ‘I don’t know where Am I missing something Here? For I must’ve seen you somewhere?’ ‘Yes you have. Good

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To Lucy K

What goes up must come down, as proved old Isaac, and though you purred that I made you chirrup and chortle more than any other living mortal, it came down shattering in your room of lilac. I see no reason why you’ve come unsmitten with a man you’d loved from your aorta, who made you breakfast, stroked you, brought you

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