Like Roy Scheider

He dresses like

Legendary Roy Scheider

But his friendship remains



The poet warms-up

Old-hardened bread

Like his Muse had taught him

Wetting it before he baked it

In the oven.

However even the extraction

Isn’t enough to keep the smell

Of baking acceptable to B

Who throws a tantrum about

It all.


There was never an intention

Of chasing B away for good

Even if she thinks of this as

Cunning tactics.

It was the last thing left for

Eating: a tin of mackerel and

Two pieces of reconditioned

Dark bread

Finding out that one piece

Was inside eaten by moths.



Lucky I had a tot of whisky left

Serving me well just in time.


He dresses like legendary

Roy Scheider

In light coloured suites

And prefers a dish of duck liver


The poet has a beer instead

Avoiding rich dishes

Light coloured suites

And Panama hats.





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