@MattAbbottPoet

@MattAbbottPoet
Image © Copyright Amy Charles Media 2014

26 Aug 2014

Flat 1A - Marigolds


The very split second
his battered blue transit
began to reverse,
'Hatful of Hollow' was banished
from the hi-fi.

In marigolds
she serenades the kitchen
to The Cure,
revels in the glory
of her company;
nothing more.

"He'll be traipsing 'round
Tesco for hours,"
she thought.

"Friday, I'm in love."

20 Aug 2014

Roy of the Rovers


He'd not expected to find much.
To tell you the truth he was just killing time.
Lanyard flapping as he walked down Wood Street;
the plastic branded shackle on his neck.
A badly pixelated photograph
that makes him look a bit like a convict
who'd both shat himself with a death glare
at exactly the same time.

As he entered the shop,
he could hear the old Ferguson radiogram;
just like the one his Dad used to own.
The lad behind the counter must be maybe 25,
but he's playing The Kinks' 'Ultimate Collection',
and he looks a bit like a forgotten man from Don Revie's Leeds.
Don Revie's "Dirty Leeds".

A couple of rails of vintage clothes;
Fred Perry, Lacoste, the usual suspects.
A cream Harrington. Levi's denim jackets.
All well and good, but if he were to go and buy one,
the Mrs would only go and make him return it.
Rolling eyes, not Rolling Stones.
"You can't wear that with a bald patch."

He was just about to leave, to tell you the truth;
maybe waste a quid or two in Ladbrokes.
And then he saw them, tucked amongst a makeshift display;
no more than 4 feet tall and fairly inconspicuous.
Hidden amongst the Marvels and the DCs and the annuals, there he sat:
Roy of the Rovers.

The Kinks were rendered silent.
The rails of clothes were blowing in the wind,
and his bald patch was a blond mass of curls.
The issue is from the 1st of June, 1985.
It cost 24p in the UK, 65c in Australia and New Zealand, and $1.45 in Malaysia.
Liam Brady's colour poster waiting in the centrefold.

Cherishing this artefact that amplified his youth,
Brian has to wipe away a tear.
It's in a sealed plastic wallet, but there's no need to look inside.
He knows it almost word for word, and the images come flooding back.
Despite Roy's devastating injury, Melchester beat Real Santana in a dramatic penalty shootout.
The revered Rovers hoist the European Cup Winners' Cup aloft.
Back of the bloody net!


He places the comic on the table,
and checks his watch for the time.

Taking his glasses off for a second,
he gives it the old thumb and forefinger,
but it's fairly clear that the daft sod's welling up.
Knowing that the lad on the counter will more than likely notice,
Brian can't help but feeling like a complete and utter tit.

But as he strolls back down Wood Street,
for the remainder of his lunch,
a couple of tears are replaced by a beaming smile.

Roy of the Rovers is back in town;
Brian's mind at ease,
and his lanyard gently swaying
in the soft summer breeze.



National Rail Would Like To Apologise For Any Inconvenience Caused


Inches punctuate elbows
as elbows rest on ribs.
The tangerine screens says it's running on time
but it's clearly telling fibs.
And then that dreaded public announcement
echoes through air:

"We are sorry to announce that the
17:21 service to Edinburgh
has been delayed by approximately 30 minutes
due to a person colliding with a train.
National Rail would like to apologise
for any inconvenience caused."

A flustered murmur and a few rude words
as frantic fingers flick through screens.
Smartphone solutions, apologetic texts;
distraction, dealt by any means.

You're scaling the platform of human herds,
fortune spending vending machines.
Admittedly you do start to feel a bit vexed;
decorum, smashed to smithereens.

Then the announcement is repeated,
and you listen, a little bit closer:

"We are sorry to announce that the
17:21 service to Edinburgh
has been delayed by approximately 30 minutes
due to a person colliding with a train.
National Rail would like to apologise
for any inconvenience caused."

Somewhere, several miles away, for some horrific reason,
a badly maimed corpse is collected from the track.
And you ponder, for a second,
and give selfishness the sack.
And as they're rushing past and ranting on,
it's difficult to swallow:

How anyone can hear,
that someone jumped in front of a train,
bear the minor consequence,
and have the fucking nerve to complain.

19 Aug 2014

Fucking Metro


This is a genuine quote
from The Metro newspaper's Good Deed Feed:

"Thank you to the homeless man,
sat outside Euston Station with his dog,
who gave me his umbrella when it was raining last week."

Conclusive proof that newspapers
can aggravate anxiety,
and that society,
quite frankly,
is fucked.

13 Aug 2014

Arriva DJ


I've just worked
a 14 hour shift.
Most of it spent
standing up a ladder
beneath the baking sun,
adding undercoat to undercoat
with a £2.50 paintbrush.

So I'd just like to thank this
"Arriva DJ,"
with simplified synthesised symphonies
on his phone;
so generously broadcast
to the entire 127.

Flat 6A - The Time Lord


I've genuinely seen him
wearing sunglasses
in Cineworld.

A constant crimson tint
placed on every face he meets.

He hasn't heard a radio,
watched a telly or read a paper
since Princess Diana died,
in 1997.

Some early morning reruns
of Doctor Who,
briefly interrupted
to break the tragic news.