I’M WEARING NO TROUSERS BECAUSE OF A MOTH CALLED MARGARET
There was a small moth on the windowsill
in the bathroom since early morning.
It wouldn’t go away.
I asked my wife after holding
it in all day. ‘Do moths eat clothes or people?’
‘Clothes.’ She said. ‘Just go into the toilet
for God’s sake.
One moth won’t kill you!’
So I went in and when I came out I had no trousers.
‘What happened?’ she said.
‘That moth ate my trousers. It was Maggie.’
‘You never told me it was Maggie.
It’s your own fault.
You’re lucky you still have underpants.’
MY DA IS HUGGING ME IN OTHER PEOPLE’S DREAMS
‘Is your Da dead?’ she said.
‘No. He’s still alive.’
‘Great, so I can tell you.
I dreamed about him last night.’
A woman in work came up to me
at the photocopier and told me.
‘In my dream last night I was at a function.
So were you and your father.
Your Da was hugging you and hugging you
and telling everyone that he was very proud of you
and that you were his son. And hugging you
and hugging you.’
‘That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Yes. Is your Da a demonstrative person?’
‘Not really. Average I would say for a bloke.
He wouldn’t be hugging me like that in public anyway.’
Silence chewed gum a few minutes before us.
As we contemplated.
I nearly fainted. Cried.
She went upstairs.
I nipped down to the canteen
to eat a scone with butter,
no jam. I hate jam.
THE BEST JAZZ FLUTE ALBUM OF ALL TIME
Is reading about music
better than actually listening to music?
Sometimes. Sometimes it is, alright.
I’ve just read about the best jazz flute album
of all time in a magazine. It was
originally recorded back in 1963.
The flautist is Jeremy Steig
and the album is called Flute Fever.
I can already hear and see it in my head
spinning like dark vinyl.
A masterpiece of wild improvisation
and avant-garde experimentation.
All from mere words on a white page.
Now I want to make a jazz
flute album of my own
even though I don’t have a flute.
Or any type of jazzy horn.
I don’t even have a record player.
Because this album gets better
each time I read this article
in black on white printed letters before me.
I’ll probably never hear it with real ears.
Just eyes. Jazz flute eyes.
I’ve got flute fever.
I’ve got flute fever bad.
Not bad like Michael Jackson
but bad like Jeremy Steig.
I’ve got flute fever.
I’ve got flute fever bad.
Flute. Flute. Flute. Flute.
Flute fever bad.
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