ROMANCE

for H B–W

The problem was math. There was one
and another one. There were a dozen
red carnations, but the math
was six candles plus a rose petal bath
and italian food. Two drank champagne

with fifteen oysters in a station bar.
Work out the cost of brief encounters.
If Jack loves Jenny and the obtuse
angle is ninety-seven degrees,
what is the chance of disaster?

Love is the answer. If Heather loves
Chris, then sixteen hands of gloves
and a couple of rings, eighteen doves
and a kiss, or vows are enough.



This poem was created on commission. Commission your own poem here:
http://www.justgiving.com/Gavin-Hudson1

HUDSON SMELLS GAS

I couldn't get out of the custard the bastards

had pushed me under a bathtubful of the stuff

thumped my sails flat out of puff glitter

and streamers sailing on a sea of soda–stream

into rum and coke over icebergs that slice

limes along my hull I'm taking on whiskey and air

to the brain seeing dicky birds and dolly birds

dancing round my skull in feather boa ruffs

and crepe paper hats the funhouse reflects

their buttons and bulbs blaring neon burning

me blind (his cologne!) believe me it's gas