where it happened, the one where the man

was putting on his coat, ready for home.

Home. Two weeks in a safe house and I’d be there,

glad of familiar accents and my dull wife.

He came out of a side door, clutching a carry-out.

Simple. Afterwards, Wilson was singing dada da da

Tom Someone, hang down your head and cry.

Too bad. I fancied that barmaid all right.

Weasel Words

It was explained to Sir Robert Armstrong that

‘weasel words’ are ‘words empty of meaning, like an

egg which has had its contents sucked out by a weasel’.

Let me repeat that we Weasels mean no harm.

You may have read that we are vicious hunters,

but this is absolutely not the case. Pure bias

on the part of your Natural History Book. Hear, hear.

We are long, slim-bodied carnivores with exceptionally

short legs and we have never denied this.

Furthermore, anyone here today could put a Weasel

down his trouser-leg and nothing would happen. Weasel laughter.

Which is more than can be said for the Ferrets opposite.

You can trust a Weasel, let me continue, a Weasel

does not break the spinal cord of its victim with one bite.

Weasel cheers. Our brown fur coats turn white in winter.

And as for eggs, here is a whole egg. It looks like an egg.

It is an egg. Slurp. An egg. Slurp. A whole egg. Slurp . . . Slurp . . .

Poet for Our Times

I write the headlines for a Daily Paper.

It’s just a knack one’s born with all-right-Squire.

You do not have to be an educator,

just bang the words down like they’re screaming Fire!

CECIL-KEAYS ROW SHOCK TELLS EYETIE WAITER.

ENGLAND FAN CALLS WHINGEING FROG A LIAR.

Cheers. Thing is, you’ve got to grab attention

with just one phrase as punters rush on by.

I’ve made mistakes too numerous to mention,

so now we print the buggers inches high.

TOP MP PANTIE ROMP INCREASES TENSION.

RENT BOY: ROCK STAR PAID ME WELL TO LIE.

I like to think that I’m a sort of poet

for our times. My shout. Know what I mean?

I’ve got a special talent and I show it

in punchy haikus featuring the Queen.

DIPLOMAT IN BED WITH SERBO-CROAT.

EASTENDERS’ BONKING SHOCK IS WELL-OBSCENE.

Of course, these days, there’s not the sense of panic

you got a few years back. What with the box

et cet. I wish I’d been around when the Titanic

sank. To headline that, mate, would’ve been the tops.

SEE PAGE 3 TODAY GENTS THEY’RE GIGANTIC.

KINNOCK-BASHER MAGGIE PULLS OUT STOPS.

And, yes, I have a dream – make that a scotch, ta –

that kids will know my headlines off by heart.

IMMIGRANTS FLOOD IN CLAIMS HEATHROW WATCHER.

GREEN PARTY WOMAN IS A NIGHTCLUB TART.

The poems of the decade . . . Stuff ’em! Gotcha!

The instant tits and bottom line of art.

Job Creation

for Ian McMillan