Two 9ers, for Hilson & Bonney respectively

A little under the weather - hopefully its not swine flu. I wrote these last night when the paracetamol kicked in & I couldn't sleep. Anyway,

* * * * *

Dear Jeff, hello, it is this same worn joke

in cultivating dates, for instance May 19th 1864,

w/ purpose as a land girl, stamping departments

at Somerset House. Though if my heart t’were an assart,

t’would only pine for SE6, as James’ consult

had left me to Catford –

right atrium akin to Foster Memorial Park

vena cava atoned to Whitefoot Lane

this black heath hithers green by Lewisham & Ladywell.

* * * * *

Dear Sean, sorry, I have no date for you

for my energetic expenditure is alone around Hackney

walking the Kings’ land, Morning Herald in hand

& though I have slain crossbowmen in Sydney

(w/ four a-levels clasped onto me belt)

my jobsearch is fucking cosmology,

as I was out faking / to taxpayers expense

his white-lily hands ruptured balls pond road,

my character taken by the DWP.


  1. Late on this one Nat - sorry! Swine flu has entered the house wethinks. What was the Foster Memorial Park assart like? From the air it looks huge. Did it have 'character'?

    Blame the worn joke on HG!

  2. Ahh the dreaded flu. I hope Nancy is doing OK.

    I must confess I have not been to Catford, this poem was written on consulting google and the London A-Z, obviously. I actually forgot you had mentioned the Catford assart at the OTO...

    That Godwin and his jokes. What next? Squirty bow ties?


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