Smile When The Day Comes by Michael Ashley

if there were such a thing as immortals
I’d pity them

because the sun sets
in the west each day

and an orgasm is just an orgasm
whether into Aphrodite’s mouth
or into your fingers

Starbucks make nice coffee
but still
it’s only coffee

I watch an old man sucking his gums
anticipating the tightness

and as I wait
for it to wrap its icy claws
around his chest

all I can think is
hurry up
take this poor old bastard

if there were such a thing as immortals
death
would be the ultimate prize
on the biggest quiz-show

fuck the million pounds Davina
pass me that syringe
pass me that .44
pass me the keys
to the wood-chipper

I want to make myself useful
the trees look especially hungry tonight

Familiarity by Michael Ashley

it’s the coldness of your back
on Sunday afternoons

as you sleep after supping
seven pints of San Miguel

it’s the outline of Europe,
of Africa on a globe

where Thailand is still Siam
& Peking is just a city in China

it’s the screw-top wine bottles
littered like the dead
on our battlefield

the smell of stale chardonnay
and tobacco ash still thick in air

it’s that broken barometer
which hangs in our hallway
the outlook frozen at fair

its the dog-hairs
collected under the radiator
that only we can see

while lying in bed

unoccupied enough
to notice it

but content enough
not to give a fuck

Familiarity by Michael Ashley

it’s the coldness of your back
on Sunday afternoons

as you sleep after supping
seven pints of San Miguel

it’s the outline of Europe,
of Africa on a globe

where Thailand is still Siam
& Peking is just a city in China

it’s the screw-top wine bottles
littered like the dead
on our battlefield

the smell of stale chardonnay
and tobacco ash still thick in air

it’s that broken barometer
which hangs in our hallway
the outlook frozen at fair

its the dog-hairs
collected under the radiator
that only we can see

while lying in bed

unoccupied enough
to notice it

but content enough
not to give a fuck

A Modern Warfare by Michael Ashley

like cold shrapnel
he sits all day
trying to scrape together
just enough change
to buy a bottle
of Strongbow,
the pin-striped gods
whistle by
like rifle rounds
from their homes
to offices
where they bet on stocks
for that 6 figure bonus
to buy their next super-car

while we —
the masses
the conscientious objectors
sit in our bunkers
avoiding the crossfire
all tuts and scowls

afraid to look out
on the litter of war.