O Do Not Ask If I Am Beach Body Ready

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

O do not ask
if I am beach body ready.

Observe how the folds
of my stomach ripple
like the wind-pulled waves.

Feel these pale buttocks,
smoothed by the sand-grains
of time.

Note these milk-white limbs,
useless and stranded,
washed up whalebones.

Consider the tufts of hair
which sprout on my shoulders
like sea-grass.

And listen to the lapping
of my socks
at the shores of my sandals.

And you ask me
if I am beach body ready?

Penguin Awareness

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

I’ve been aware of penguins
since I was three
and now I think that one
has moved in with me.

The signs are everywhere:
the saltwater smell in the air,
moulted feathers on my chair,
a fish I found upon the stair,

but when I turn around
there’s no one there,
for he moves in the shadows,
like Tony Soprano.

I am forever stepping in guano.

I’m not sure why
he’s come to live with me.
There are better places
for him to be.

But, when I go to bed,
his soft heels tread
across the kitchen floor,

and I hear him open
the freezer door

and I picture him there,
thinking about the hand
that life has dealt him

and I wonder
if his heart is melting.

My Cat: A History

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

My cat, this ooze of fur and claws
across my lap, is currently experiencing
the eighth of her nine lives.

In 1919, while preparations
for a League of Nations
were composed, she dozed.

In 1789, Louis XVI appraised
the mob and realised his days
were numbered. My cat slumbered.

Whilst Thomas More, in 1534,
refused the Oath and paid the price,
she dreamt of catching mice.

Two hundred years before,
when across the land
the Black Death swept, she slept.

Further back, as Ptolemy
did some geometry and the world
got mapped, she napped.

When the citizens of Rome
showed their ire, Nero fiddled.
She curled up, enjoyed the fire.

Way back, in Ancient Egypt, my cat
was revered, at the top of the heap.
Didn’t really notice. She was mainly asleep.

Man of Action

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

I am writing to report
my dissatisfaction.

How dare you say
I am not a man of action.

You say I like:

to sleep,
to loaf,
to lie around,

to drift,
to dawdle,
to loll and lounge.

All verbs, I note:
have you not heard

that verbs are known
as doing words?

Stuart Mould has invited you to join his professional network

Assorted Poems, Selected poems

I

Stuart Mould has invited you
to join his professional network.

He is wearing
a tuxedo and the smirk

of a man unfamiliar
with the concept of rejection.

Stuart Mould has four thousand
and fifty-eight connections.

Small wonder given the way
he generates

revenue
you never knew

existed. It’s all there
in his results-driven profile.

It appears he will go
the extra mile

in his position as
Customer Solutions Architect.

I don’t know why
but I click accept.

II

Stuart Mould has endorsed you for the following skills:

Marketing ✓
Leading Teams ✓
Targeting ✓
Weaving Dreams ✓

Scuba diving ✓
Semaphore ✓
Lego building ✓
Harp (Grade Four) ✓

Chess playing ✓
Home baking ✓
Soothsaying ✓
Lovemaking ✓

That’s a lot
of endorsements to get

from someone
who I have never met.

III

Stuart Mould has written you a recommendation
that you can include on your profile page.

“Bold strides this colossus in the workplace
with footsteps firm and full of flawless grace,
noble of purpose and so fair of face,
greeting PowerPoint with such fond embrace.

O Mighty Strategist! Leader Complete!
The Pivot-fabled Slayer of Spreadsheets!
Analytical Artist! Office Athlete!
Leviathan of the Corporate Elite!”

I must admit
I hesitated.

It seemed a little
overstated.

IV

Stuart Mould has invited you to join him and his family for two weeks
in their delightful villa situated near the Rio Real Golf Course,
and just ten miles from the charming, bustling city of Marbella.

I went, of course.
I’m no fool.

It had a private
swimming pool

where I, alongside
his four thousand contacts,

swam and schmoozed,
snoozed, relaxed,

after mornings
on sun-parched links,

and the clink of ice
in noon-time drinks.

We, the Professional Network
of Stuart Mould,

his corporate army,
paraded, parasoled,

a linked in, in sync
commonwealth.

I eventually met
the man himself.

He was not as bad
as I expected.

I felt I had –
at last – connected.