around Blenheim Palace and other
run down dives in Oxfordshire
where the big nobs hang
on to there last few
pleasures of the Morris dancers
and Isis fishing club members
who liked to dangle their
wire in the murky waters
and brace for a little
tug on their wiggling worm
time it took him to…
that gets even smaller when
the weather turns chilly on
the village green in Rucorn
with wind of the wirral
blowing up your back passage
up to the armpits which
is not nice if you
have’nt had a wash for
just before Stobarts were formed