COWBOYS AND INDIANS

THE WILD WEST
The Wild West has migrated east
The Middle East near and far
Where the horse has been superseded
By the pick-up, the land cruiser and the car
They race across vast deserts firing bullets in the air
If there’s a name on any bullet
Well, no one seems to care
Shooting up the town was once the pastime of the bad guys
Now it is blowing up the houses
And killing little girls and boys.
The bombs rain down on everyone and everything
Where once it was just arrows
Fired by some pesky redskin.
Looking down the barrel of a gun
Can be intimidating
When it’s eighteen foot long
There are no six-guns or shotguns any more
But rocket launchers, machine guns
And others of such enormous bore
Playing cowboys and Indians was once a pleasant game
But when your opponent must be beheaded
Then it isn’t quite the same.

HAMPSTEAD GIRLS

 

HAMPSTEAD GIRLS

 A better class of person

Adorns the Hampstead

Red-bricks and glass

Whether lounging in the chic-lit bars

Or just lolling in the grass

Hampstead ladies in particular

Ride their bikes with elegance

And sip their foamy cappuccinos

With practised nonchalance.

On the pavements and in the cafes

There are no sightings

Of the culturally bereft

Even down-and-outs

Lean quite boldly to the left.

John Betjeman could not complain

Or call on Hampstead Heath

For bombs to rain

Nor suffer scorn like poor old Slough

Who he had deemed

Not fit for any humans now

Those air-conditioned bright canteens

In Hampstead’s glades will not be seen

And there’s plenty grass to graze his cow

Hampstead Heath’s as green as Ireland now!

my latest poetry collection – 67 – is now available  @  http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/