Danny Nails It

For clarity on Britain’s exit
Here’s Walford’s philosophy supplier
To cut through all the Eartha Kitt
And prove that Brexit’s really Dyer

On t’ Moor

When spring brings wildfire
Where wildlife is words
How they fail when the library’s ablaze

A Philosophical Tanka - From Omarska, Bosnia

When facing a wolf

There is only one option

And that is to work

And never stop working with

Until it becomes a pet

Into yer actual haiku

Into spring where you
Sit under a book and read
A proper old tree

“Your Body isn’t a Temple, It’s an Amusement Park” - Anthony Bourdain

Food like music
Is a matter of taste

Before Jamie bored us
(Though he knew all the chords)
With his bland Britpop brand
Before Nigella’s Shania Twain cosy cleavage
Popped the eyes out of Middle Ingerland

Before Ramsey’s parental advisory
Repetitive rap
And Carluccio (RIP)
Plated up that simple opera
We all could grasp

Tony showed us that food was
The Stooges The MC5 Los Explosivos
Where oysters are MDMA
And the Ramones are alive on that plate

Where the kitchen cast
Were Goodfellas
The Three Amigos
And Scarface
Stepping in
As the culinarily crew
Of Battleship Potemkin

Where the kitchen was the spotlight
Where the cooks were the stage show
Where the roadies were as important as the band
Where the collective experience
Could make you cry
Grown man

And the food was the tune
That punched your throat and
Kicked your balls
Made you sit on your arse for hours
Pouring wine and breaking bread

Messed with your mind
Pogue-d your head
Made you fall in love
Again
With something you shouldn’t have
‘Cos you’ll always remember the times you fell
And you’ll never forget love
When it’s cooked that well

Back in the Hollandaise

It’s the
Pensioners’ special
2 for a fiver
Rag pudding trade
It’s as slow
As their speech

As low as the zip
On the gammon faced
Brickie
Who’s up for a corner bit
With the underage waitress

It’s a safe
A bet
As the barmaids
Ignoring
The lad’s pint orders
As they gawp at Corrie
Later

For now
It’s dead as the mate
Who dares call
Into question
The sexuality of
The landlord’s
Son who snorts
A bit of 5 o’clock heroism
From my
Wiped down kitchen top
When I go for a smoke
Now and then

It’s dead
As I said
At this time
Before my favourite
Hour 5 till 6
When the lads
I knew from school
Turned plumbers sparkies
And pricks
Would swap steak butties
For pints and I’d get
Nicely early evening pissed
Before all of that
This

Sweetly
Toothless owd lad
With blazer
And unimportant badge
Alone
Missing his 50p
Off for two
Asking me
On serving his fish n chips
(As unlike the nail filing
Barmaids
Has fuck all else to do)

(So fuck me
The joy of joys
Of all days
When the challenge came)
‘Ave you got any Hollandaise?
Fuck me yes
I said
(Sort of)
Be a couple of minutes
Whipped into action
Small pan
Bits
Vinegar
Pieces
Mace
Any lemon?
Ace
Separate the egg yolks
Whisk like fuck
For a 5 minute reduction of that
With the butter like this
Was miraculous shit
And the golden sauce presented
While the fella
Fumbled with his peas
Was so ramekin glorious
I nearly
Got down on my knees
(Though I say so myself)

So in Bourdain spirit
With the scrubbed pans
And accoutrements
Back on the shelf
The empty plate
Came back
And the tip was fuck all
I said
Go fuck youself

One of Our Outsourcers is Missing

One of our outsourcers is missing,
Call inspector Clueso
Nab ‘em if you see ‘em,
Cos the in-house,
Has gone outhouse,
Down the Great British Museum.

The caper has gone wrong.
It’s carry on up the Khyber,
Without a paddle, we are sinking.
Is this protest necessary?
Some tourists maybe thinking.

But we’re sinking, like the small beer round ‘ere,
Says the annual reporter.
Like making love in a Carillion canoe,
We’re fucking close to water.

It’s workers versus dinosaurs,
It’s a stationary position.
It’s a public good v privatised farce
When one of our outsourcers
Is missing.

Funereal Cake - Not a Haiku

Freshly baked English
Language funereal cake
Isn’t woke it’s wake

The Last Sandwich

The future’s female
Deal with it kids
The party game’s
Come to it’s
Conclusion

As music stops
Stand statuesque
With bags of soldiers
Round our necks
After us
Little boys left it
In a right state
So
Off you go
You’ve had your fun
Round here
She’ll say

And her lip will curl
Like the last
Out of date
Dinosaur shaped
Sandwich
On the plate

So
Off you go
You’ve had your fun
Round here
She’ll say
Before
It will end
In tears