THE WEASEL Poem by Jacob Polley

That's the way the money goes . . . Trad.


Up and down the London Road
blinder by the hour
I spent as much
again as we owed
white winter flowers

Crowds and crowds like fallen leaves
blown between the towers
you came in
with the cold up your sleeves
white winter flowers

Screams and shouts and broken things
now you're fired and cower
under the sheets
when the postman brings
white winter flowers

Who'd have dreamt a little twist
could turn your sweet breath sour
I tasted this
when we first kissed
white winter flowers

For your whole heart is half my heart
my heart is half of yours
so we're neither complete
and lie drunk in the street
white winter flowers