JOHN McGARRIGLE

last night
as I sat by my typewriter
a junkie
climbed in my window,
I was writing a poem
a very interesting little poem
about the birds, the bees,
and a flower that I’d seen
that day,
the junkie
battered my wife
stole all of our money
and when he left
took with him
my television set
and my hi fi unit,
this unfortunate little incident
rather disturbed me,
it really put me off writing
my little poem
about the birds, the bees,
and the flower that I’d seen
So, I wrote about
the wind whistling through the trees
instead.

Refuge

Cold,
wind swept
lonely
that’s the braes
in winter,
beer cans
dirty books
condoms
litter
the paths
and yet
there’s something,
that defies
this desecration
a sunset
unsurpassed
and when
the snow
comes
to hide
the sins
of man
you’ll find
in this
winter wonderland
a refuge