Hey, what's this guy playing at? How come all these poems? Here's yet
another for C & C:
(and, as before, the words between asterics, *like this* are to be read as
in italics.


The Kingdom Of Lager And Heaven


He fell into me as, well hit and missed, we all swayed off the bus
and Sandra caught him as we stopped singing and I swore like hell
as she waltzed him nearer the chip shop, lowered him onto a bollard
where he struggled to get out his fags, then took one of Sandra's, lit it
while she smiled, spoke softly, until he leaned forward, belched loudly,
and puked all over her shoes.  She stepped to one side, still held him,
rubbed his back, held his forehead, and crooned as if soothing a child
while I just ate my fish with the rest until I tried to tug her away.
But, *Fuck you Bob,* she says, *last month someone did this for me -
said the same had happened to him - so, by Christ, I'm handing it on.*

Bob Cooper






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