Last Orders.

He went into the White Lion and wept pints.
She’s left me, Frank, he sobbed into his Tetley’s,
Even though it was Frank’s day off.
She’s left me. Sheila topped him up.
There, there, pet. It’s for the best, you’ll see.

The snug held its breath, the best room
Didn’t know where to put itself
While in the back the jukebox
Harmonised in sympathy as Hank Williams
Sang a lonesome cowboy ballad.

The seventy six rolled by outside,
Then the seventy five, the fifty three,
The twenty, the whole arithmetic book
But still he couldn’t figure out an
Answer. She’s left me, he told the smokers

At the door. She’s left me, he told
The taxi driver. She’s left me, he told
The cat. She’s left me, now what’ll I do?
She’s left me, he told the mirror
And when he saw his reflection he knew.

Al Mclimens.

Stannington View.

Capitalism crossed with country.
a beautiful outlook on what could have been.
Thunder, the high rise and the distant echo of the lonely Ice cream van.
What could be possible with such simple tools.
Sunlight in the distance, everything else is dark.

Aaron Castledine.


To The Unbearded Masses.

I know you think us
Somehow stranger for the beard.

But let’s be honest and stick to the facts;

The unbearded man
Spends on average ten minutes every day,
that’s ten hours a month,
That’s five entire days every year;
Half naked, covered in foam,
With a razor in their hand,
Satisfying their hairless
fetish for
Their own pre-pubescent infancy.

Whereas
The bearded man
Wastes no time on daily maintenance
Giving him more time
To start fires and fix things.

Joe Kriss.