changing trumpjectory

you choke down morning news on the run
with your hash brown muffin & coffee for one
you poke your bus pass at a sleepy driver
& hope you’re more dressed than lady godiva

another gulp of news & lukewarm coffee
oh shit, in your hair, is that last night’s toffee
oh shit, road hump, was that your last fresh shirt
coffee all over, down the seat & your skirt

wet wipes can only smear the whole mess around
judging looks can only add more lines to your frown
close your eyes, take a breath, try to take it easy
no one said daily commutes ought to be breezy

you tell yourself that this is all for your dream
to become top dog of the capitalist cream
another road hump, your contact lens pops out
& now that you can’t find it you begin to doubt

is fact checking reality too much for trump
because later that day on the tv news dump
it’s “people eat cats!” & “ukrainians are dead!”
& all the other stupid shit that trump said

well, even if you’d thought it was your dream job
it’s clear you cannot work for that derelict yob
you’re pleased you skipped the office to wash your hair
instead of lending your voice to that circus fair

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // Pull Up My Duvet by Harry Rogers

When nuclear potentiality
Turns into global actuality
There’s no return from our stupidity,
Nor our love affair with cupidity.
Celebrities suddenly discover
How to abuse religiosity,
Embrace prophecies as they recover
From modern fortune driven pomposity.
Priesthoods depicted gods as supermen,
Reversed by uber riche upstart godheads.
World stage creaks with their animosity,
We suffer arrogant hypocrisy.
Gooners gurn in private directors box,
War factory chimneys belch monkey pox,
Pensioners told we must be practical,
Putin threatens nuclear, tactical.
Fuck all their flags and their fucking borders,
Fuck all neo-liberal marauders,
I pull my duvet up over my head,
Today I think, perhaps, I’ll stay in bed.

by HARRY ROGERS
© All rights reserved 2024

phoenix is not at all well

if only you knew what was really going down
then you wouldn’t dismiss me as just a clown
for now all i can do is pretend i don’t care
and continue my awkward dance up the stair
i see you’re confused as a monkey banging gears
what’s with my flat-footing and my crocodile tears
what’s with the daisy pricked through my buttonhole
and why do i snort and gallop like some fool foal
well could it be that i don’t think you deserve to know
that you’re better to zip your lip and watch the show
because if you knew what was really going down
then you’d freak the hell out and honk on out of town

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Man by Stephen Crane

 A man said to the universe,
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”

by STEPHEN CRANE (1871-1900)
Public Domain Poetry

blue suede blues

yeah, i really should’ve checked on the weather
because the sky goblins are just not a thing
but it’s said that to go back can be bad luck
if even to grab a forgotten umbrella
once left, one’s house should be stayed away from
so, splish of puddle, meet my blue suede shoes

today, me and my shoes have things to do
firstly, to visit that old bench in the park
it’s been looking drab and lonely recently
and the pigeons poo on it for merry sport
a stimulating rub with keen hands and suds
will bring the hardwood back to its former glory

secondly, to treat old man river to coffee
with a shot of brandy made piping hot
it’s been looking sluggish and tired recently
so, me and my shoes with a flask, bottoms up
shall give a golden shower for the ages
over the truculent swans, honking, aggrieved

and finally, to hug that weeping willow
grimly wilting in silence out there on the bank
me and my shoes with clumsy handmade scarf
with playful breath control will swaddle her nape
until the chlorophyll leaves the leaves on high
to fill the night sky with a new constellation

and postscript will find me in that same evening
placing upon porch my hopelessly damaged shoes
could they be an offering to the sky goblins
we all know they’re blue suede footwear fetishists
so, anything’s possible, is it rather not
and, hopefully, tomorrow there will be no rain

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024