Scrapyard

It's only nuts and bolts
I tell myself
Bodywork

A lying in state
Of booths and bonnets

A catwalk of broken dreams
Miles to go and new horizons

It's only tin and chrome
I console myself
Hubcaps

A panorama of bits and pieces
Pileups and piggybacks

Hatchback
Saloon
Taxed 'till June

And yet I see a summer's afternoon
So long ago now
That the memory barely whispers
Through the dust
Hedgerows racing by
Skid marks and scratches
Magpies of sorrow in the sky

Priming the Pump

Is strictly a two handed affair
The knack being
To pour and pump
At the same time

And always
Have a saucepan or two in reserve

You must allow at least three bucketful's
For the water to lose that
Pepsi cola look

A further two
Before it's drinkable

Timing is everything
Knowing when to plunge
Pouring on the down stroke

Then what with dry spells
And low levels
And whether the mechanism
Is in the mood or not

Ten saucepans on it might still be just
Two bells and a grapefruit

^