Just Giving


I’m giving my body to science
No hearse will take me away
There’ll be no morbid funeral
Nor hefty costs to pay
I’m giving my body to science
To be dismantled bit by bit
Prodded and poked systematically
In a bid to keep you fit
I’m giving my body to science
The ultimate donation
I’m finally going to uni
To fulfil my true vocation

Photo credit: Memorial at Cardiff University



The point was well and truly missed.
Instead, he became defensive, reactive.
Was it a guilty conscience?
She couldn’t tell.
She became confused; afraid to speak.
Her words were being taken in the wrong way.
Best to keep quiet for a while –
at least until his sense of humour returned.

I shook her; metaphorically.
Told her to get a grip; open her eyes.
She didn’t know, couldn’t know,
that he’d been in love with me
for the past six months
and saved all his funnies* for me.


*possibly a euphemism



She grappled with him,
hooked him, fed him a line.
He sank to his knees, cap in hand.
She reached into her bag.
It only took one shot.
Glassy-eyed, he looked up.
Searched her face.
She didn’t play by the book.
It was case closed.
He should have minded his own business.
They’d been partners in crime.
Now she must wave him goodbye.

Recycled words


The words he wrote for you;
restored from the recycle bin of his life –
tweaked a little, saved as ‘for you’.
A generic ode that speaks to all,
much as the words of a tarot reader.
Each believes their substance is ‘for me’.
You hold the message in your hearts,
watching and waiting for the future,
when all that is told becomes truth.
I spoke to one whose fortune was told.
You are waiting for synoptic lives to come to pass;
a tall, dark, handsome man
whose palm you cross with silver and gold
before he disappears into the night,
notebook and guitar in hand.
He wrote you a love song,
and when you played hard to get,
he gave it to another.