Comments about Jake Kraweckyj
Here's something you might like to know.
A couple of months ago,
I was on the bus back from my girlfriend's house.
Other side of Manchester from me,
so I had miles to go before I slept.
An Irish man with jug ears talked to me through a roll-up cigarette,
his flared nostrils vomiting plumes of billowing smoke.
The smell ached in the air.
He asked me what I did.
I told him I worked in a bookshop.
I didn't tell him he was a muse for this poem.
He told me he was a traffic warden,
but 'hadn't been punched by anyone yet'.
I asked him how ...