MUDFISH

I’m so close to home

On my sofa

Living on a £10-a-day wage

Like I'm supposed ta.

Popping in and out of houses

like a toaster

Feeling the heat

Like a tea coaster

Poster child of

generation rent. 

Got no money for that

After travel is spent

Trying to forge a career 

in something I believe in.

Beware of your dream as sometimes they’re deceiving

See when 

You go after your passion 

Without any money

You’ve got nothing to tie you over

A bee with no honey

And you ask your boss for a living wage

But they boot you away, as other youngsters say:

“I don’t care if I’m paid.”

And accountants switch careers to do something more meaningful

with a bank of savings that they can keep living off

And I go the other way

Change my dream, hopeless.

It’s hard to change the world

When you can’t afford new clothes too often, you forget to look in the mirror.

But I was in a set of toilets, waiting when I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

My internal monologue said,

“You look like a heffer.”

There was a silence.

All my other narratives were shocked at how mean I was. 

When was the last time I even heard the word ‘heffer.’

I look it up online.

It’s spelt “h-e-i-f-e-r,” not heffer.

My inner critic can’t even spell right. 

It’s a cow that has at least one calf. 

Wow.

And I thought about that time I did a stand-up course and the man teaching it said I had the top and bottom of a young woman and the body of a middle-aged mother of three. 

My inner critic was better at metaphors than him. 

I looked away from the mirror

Still recoiling from shock. 

My nicer inner narratives comparing my critic to an irrational twitter troll. 

I love cows, especially when they have a baby. 

And that’s what boobs are really for, ay? Milk. 

I walk away from the mirror. 

You eat like 

Chinese water torture. 

Emitting the sound

of Hannibal Lecturn

Nwip nwip nwip

Kill me now 

Sometimes I lie on the sofa, imagining my unborn child sleeping across my body, peaceful. 

My girlfriends say,

Martin never wanted a dog, but he had one after a 6-year campaign by his daughter. Of course, she left the nest and now him and Tubs, the labrador, were tied together. 

And Martin arranged kennels for stupid, smelly Tubs. He wasn’t a bright dog but he liked to be in the same room as the family and he loved leftover dinners. Martin found a kennel and they plodded up to cages near the front door of the main house. 

From inside they heard the owners. 

“You fucking bastard, you told me-”

SMASH - a plate was flung against a wall. 

Little Tubs looked up at his pack Dad, Martin, with pleading eyes. 

Martin looked back down. Two species united through non-verbal understanding. 

“Come Tubs.” Said Martin. “You’re not staying here.”

Martin found a nice farmer who took Tubs in for a fortnight. All were happy with the arrangement. 

My hygienist is like a dental dominatrix. 

“Have you been flossing?”

No. 

Smack. 

“Well you should.” 

She buries string in between my teeth. 

They bleed. 

“If they bleed it means you’re not flossing right.”

And she strips my dentine naked of plaque. 

I see them, feel them, bare of waste covering. 

She’s pleased with herself. 

I know their new state 

is right. 

That’ll be £140. 

I feel truly dominated now. 

Here you go, I say. 

See you again in 6 months. 

Fear and satisfaction return to the horizon. 

“Yes” 

I say. 

Through my sparkly teeth

They’ve lost my coil

up in my body

So I need a

“Gynaecological pelvic and 

transvaginal ultrasound.”

My poor brother opened the letter at my old flat

He’ll be disturbed reading that

for a few years now. 

A close friend said

“Mmmm sounds sexy.”

Contraception is really annoying.

But I suppose less annoying

Beyonce is the most beautiful woman in the world

She can sing whilst running 12 miles an hour on a treadmill,

in stilettos. 

She can pull off many runway looks on a size 12 dress size. 

Beyonce can shake her booty whilst keeping all other parts of her body still. 

This is really hard to do. 

Beyonce has really cool Instagram posts that go:

front, back, front, back

then it zooms

lips, shoes, purse, earrings

She’s collaborated with the Louvre. 

When I see a Beyonce music video – I can’t believe I’m the same gender as her. 

I’m so proud. 

There are other great female figures in history

but Beyonce will always be

Nothing comes to you on a plate

He told me. 

“Yeh,” I said. 

Like Bankers bonuses

Like MP’s expense claims

Like a parent sending you to public school

Like a billion pound Hilton Hotel empire

Like being the son of God

Like having parents who own property in London

I’m all for working your arse off. 

As long as we can admit

food related metaphors

have got nothing to do with

“Hi Dan,

Find attached my invoice for this month.

Many thanks,

Phil”

One week

Two week

Three week

Four, Five week, Six week. 

“Dan, any update on the payment,” it should be processed by now

QUESTION MARK

Dan:

“Ah, due to the volume of invoices it’s going to be paid next month.”

Dear Dan, 

Sweet, sweet Dan. 

How can I pay my rent with your “next month.”

How can I pay for my tampons, my water, my electricity?

How would you like to be just a normal player in this freelancer game of monopoly

When your £80 day rate is paid on whatever month the banker feels like 

I am grateful you’re paying me the living wage

Let’s celebrate your company

But know when you late pay someone,

Especially on 21k a year, 

you are watching a slug whilst they battle with a mountain of salt poured on their body. 

You are placing blocks of wood on the floor and stubbing thousands of toes. 

Accountant Dan, accountant Dan.

How many ways can I compare you to the Victorian factory managers that exploited the poor for the sake of their books. 

Four months later I’m paid my grand. 

I’m still thinking, how can Dan, the man, pay on time

without tarnishing my relationship with his company?

You know your flat’s cold

when you put on the oven

to make up for the lack

of radiators. 

Full whack. 

Open the front door

Gets you toastie warm

Only works when flatmates are out. 

They won’t like the gas bill

My eyes move like a chicken.

I’m at a party

Strutting my stuff

Birthday girl is drunk sitting on everyone’s lap

I peck at the ground hoping not to be noticed

Cluck cluck cluck

I want to be back in my nest made of twigs and downy feathers

Ah to rest

But nope, I’m here

Kakawwwrrr

My mate looks at me up and down, he’s a hawk. 

“You look tired.”

I move my eyes left and right not answering his question, for fear of being rude.

Kakawwwrrrr

Girls in the pub wear see-through tops, masking tape covering their nipples, their claws skittering on the pub floor. 

“Let’s fly,” I say to my mate. 

“Taxi?”

“Phil come here.

Look there that one. 

You see that window?

That’s where your father and I conceived you.”

“MUUUUUUUUUUM.”

“Marcia she doesn’t want to hear that.”

“AHHHHHHHHHH.”

“But it’s beautiful. 

“Marcia enough of that.”

It was a nice old French townhouse on the north coast. 

“EUGHHHHH.”

And my Dad, Rob, scolded Mum like a child. 

Which was funny as usually it was the other way around. 

And my parents waddled off in front of me

saying little nothings,

getting over the shock. 

And I thought

you know

Her hand was raised 

to cast beautiful shadows 

on her face.

I hope he’ll like this shot on Instagram

she thinks. 

And she wears very few clothes

And people love it

Men

Women

Some children

What an inspiration. 

She returns to her

work in the cafe

Dreaming

Blue sky

Against the chimneys

You look alright

Reminding my eyes

It’ll be summer soon

And the light will shine

Beyond 5 O’Clock

Which means I can be outside

And watch dogs in the park

‘till 10 at night

Whilst I run my 

I was getting the 355 bus back to West Norbury when she sat next to me. 

I’d had a bad day at work – none of my projects were going well and I felt useless. 

Then this 85 year-old lady began her tirade from the adjacent seat:

“Look at you.

You’re disgusting. 

You’re a disgrace.”

I said “Hello” to her with my eyes, then turn my iPhone louder. 

“You are everything that’s wrong with this country.”

Other people on the bus began to look at us. 

I really had no idea what I’d done to set off this woman. 

I wish I could say she was my Grandmother so there’s a funny unexpected twist to this story. But she’s not. 

“Fuck you, you fucking waste of space.” She continued.

Tzsssssss.

The bus arrives at my stop. 

I got up – the old woman gave way to me without stopping her barrage of insults. 

“Never do I want to see your-” 

Off she floated on the 355.

No one batted much of an eyelid to her ranting. 

I looked into the window of a Sainsbury’s Local to see if I was wearing an offensive t-shirt. 

Nope. 

Oh well. 

Guess she’s just another person