Bell End

(i)

Up on the moors

and utterly alone,

just me and the stones

(not the prancing pensioners

but the unknowable,

the even more ancient ones).

All is still.

All is peaceful.

All is blissful.

Then the bell end appears:

a nightmarish apparition

in a vomit orange gilet,

talking too loudly into a phone

and trying to lock-in eye contact.

(ii)

Out in the dusty desert

(I misread the signpost,

thought it pointed to the dessert →).

I'm down to my last dried scorpion

and my canteen of Purdey's

has nearly run dry

but at least it's quiet

and I like wide open spaces.

OH MY GOD, it's the bell end,

hanging around the oasis.

If he thinks that I'm stopping for a chat

then he can go and knackers.

That son of a camel gets everywhere,

like sand in your undercrackers.

(iii)

My day is done

and I find myself

in the enclosure

for martyrs and saints,

behind reinforced pearly gates.

Just me and St. Peter

when who should appear but...

...you guessed it,

the complete and utterly detested

bell end. And sweet reason

leaves her throne.

WHY IN GOD'S NAME
WON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?

B.R. 14.11.2021