I’ve a snozzle
For a distressingly putrefied pride,
Lingering rustiness
In a milk-and-honeyed world.
A squeal for break-no-bones intentions?
Ha! Heads shake.
A puncture of confidence,
Slump head-teeter
Into a tub, Scotch-fuddled.
We’re plunging into a flow,
Conversations –
Obliged to unsnarl riggings
To hitch that sort of pull.
You used to swank the whiskers
Of a tin lion.
By Christopher Barnes, UK
