A kind of folly this: girl walks by,
cloth bag hooked over polka-dot arm.
Aviators against the world. Sons and
daughters cries the stereo. Here are the bombs
that fade away. Misheard; and I’m waiting
to record the moment weather changes.
I can see into your room when the lights are on.
We are watching the same telly, switch from
sport to docudrama. The heat from the backs
of your legs at night. Little fool. Little ugly.
This is folly. Scrap funbags. The way
a building sits in its locale. I can spot
subsidence, having seen the programme.
If I gave you my heart would it find a good home?
Myths and Legends of the Celts.
‘Future Love’ owes something to Joe Dunthorne’s poem ‘Future Dating’. Sorry Joe. But remember, we agreed all poetry is theft, right?