Poetry by Paul Tanner

                         hnt6581 CC



boxes

just walking past. that’s all. 
you were just walking past. and 
this big fat prick jumped out of the phone box 
saying, give us a toke on that, his fingers reaching for your smoke 
and before you could say anything
he pinched it 
then went back into the phone box.
back to arguing with whoever he was arguing with 
on the phone, your smoke between his teeth.
it was obvious you weren’t going to get it back 
so you walked on.
he died last week. mrs Anderson, or Andrews, whatever her name is, at 
number 12, or 14, wherever she is, she told you: heart attack. 
you weren’t glad but you weren’t quite sad. nothing personal.
you’re busy. you have roll-ups to roll. bills to pay. breaths to breathe. maybe even
your own death rattle to rattle, like a shitty homemade bracelet. 
you’re busy, you. and they tore down that phone box
like it never happened, did you see? maybe it didn’t.
maybe you imagined his fag-thievery, because you just
plain didn’t like his face. so you made up this supposed slight 
to feel less guilty. maybe you died, and he’s imagined you 
insulted him, and your ghost is being kept on earth 
by his passive aggressive memory, forever bitter about the time
you stole his smoke at the phone box. maybe you’re both dead:
you were wrestling for the roll-up in the phone box
when they tore it down. now you’re destined 
to do this forever: hating. hating at phone boxes. 
alone together. obviously, what with the explosion of mobile phones.
in fact, that’s a point: when did this happen? 
I rest my case. 
and you, in peace?

​

​

a resounding head shake from the editor 

yes, McDonald’s is the antichrist 
but big macs are smaller than they used to be. 
no, I don’t litter
but I don’t go around with a litter picker, either.
sure I hate trump
but I’m not gonna pool my money together 
to fly over to him and attempt a coop. 
I know porn is terrible. why, have you got any?
meat is murder: I could murder some ribs.  
banks are scum. how dare they extend my overdraft. 
Starbucks is the devil’s piss. that’s why 
I always get my card stamped so the 10th’s free.  
oil is the devil’s come. that’s why I don’t drive. taxi! 
“Facebook is the devil’s TV” – I’m gonna go viral with that one. 
I hate capitalism and I have the Topman t-shirt to prove it. 

so yeah, I have morals.
I mean, they’re pretty easy to have. 

be honest: 
see the bright side
of cynical hypocrisy. 

if this was a meme you’d retweet it

but it’s a poem.
or is it?  

I don’t like poems 
but I write them.
or do I? 

​

Tanner congealed in Liverpool tomorrow. He’s been earning minimum wage, and writing about it, for too long. His novel ‘Jobseeker’ is doing alright on Amazon. He was shortlisted for the Erbacce 2020 Poetry Prize. His latest collection ‘Shop Talk: Poems for Shop Workers’ is published by Penniless Press. His star sign is Libido. Hobbies include pillage, cribbage and the occasional spillage.

---