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Five poems by Dean Wilson

Well Versed is edited by Jody Porter

Banker's Lament
Dean Wilson

My little heart
is filled with despair.
I live in London,
I'm a millionaire.

I work with people
who call me Sir.
I work with people
who wouldn't care

if thugs broke into
my house in Mayfair,
stole my Warhol
and tied me to a chair.

Love, love, love
is everywhere.
When, when, when
will I get my share?

 

Peer

He's a little
bit twisted

and his house
is grade two listed.

He loves his
wife very much

but sometimes
she can't get in touch

because he's on
a sling somewhere

being fisted
by a lady

from Weston-
Super-Mare.

 

Tiger's Lair

Phil May is singing
his little heart out

in his black shirt
and black slacks.

His Elvis legs are
all over the place

and the audience
are entranced.

If I had one ounce
of his charisma

I would consider
myself blessed

and if this was
Britain's Got Talent

the golden buzzer
would be pressed.

 

Up

As I walked past
Poundstretcher Extra

I caught a glimpse
of my reflection

and for once wasn't
repulsed by what I saw.

In fact I felt that good
about myself

I threw my cap into the air
like Mary Tyler Moore.

 

York

Don't wear white trousers
down Dame Judi Dench Walk.

I know someone who did
and they ended up in a coma.

 

 

Dean Wilson was a postman for twenty years and loves Hull City and Patsy Cline. He's been published in Rising, the Rialto, Magma, the North and the Slab. His chapbook There are Worse Things I Could do Than Write a Poem or Two Is published by Dancing Sisters. Confessions of a Redundant Postman is his first full collection and is out next year on Wrecking Ball Press.

Well Versed is edited by Jody Porter – [email protected]
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