take your platform boots off
Kevin
you’ve killed a deer to make your point
but our tea and biscuit sensibilities
will cope
we forgive you
you’re charming!
hiding from your vanity
likening molten glass to tartiflette
in the fresh peat you hammer a sign
‘Not Hobbit-Town’ (it’s cute)
then later tell the production crew (sternly)
“this not aspirational! This is economical!”
Marxism 101 plaything
soliloquies about the means of production
while you go on dung safari
afterwards the gang pretends to piss in a bucket
you call the result a “manly amount”
150 years of Britain’s industrial history
at the bottom of a Hackney canal
which swallows your magnet with an erotic slurp
there you go all doe-eyed
banging on the shed roof
but we’re weary
of plumbing double entendre
Kevin and the engineer boil a kettle
“shall I play mother?”
that curve came from a tree
gun powder tamped into the trunk
a certain “massive quality”
boy with a simple dream
to own a patch of woodland
(where there’s a thing there’s a fence)
your friends show how they feel
by building a a straw effigy
and lighting it with flaming arrows