Doing the joint over

It was down to bone on bone

they said, but he shouldered on

as each year ground on the year before

until much to do was hard to reach

so he succumbed to the surgeon’s cut,

the incisive smile of an opening through which

to power-tool out the burnt-out roach

and get a fix on a nice new joint, easy as

dropping a reconditioned gearbox

into a revamped old Mustang,

having done the town, burnt some rubber

got the girl, and settled down.

I met a stone

We shouldn't personify inanimate objects

It's patronising and they don't like it

On my morning foreshore walk

I met a stone,

grey and worn like me

but a curious shape

and comfortable in my palm.

Each hand wanted a turn to hold

as he warmed to my company,

breaking the solitude,

following me all the way home

where he now sits among intricate shells

and other seaside treasures

and answers to the name, Estonia.

Also ran

I follow the news but do not set the pace

teach what I was taught without invention

and hook my carriage to a steady train

the Thursday in a busy week

one well aware of precedent and protocol

the universal second-in-command

like a hen that knows its pecking order

the ideal civil servant, a reasoned man

relied on to embrace the logical conclusion

who plays according to Hoyle without flare

or error, adheres to the recipe

and writes to an accepted format

so the only time I lead is when I drive

by the code at the head of a winding queue

of reluctant restless followers.