Winter calls, or at least

the two week crush of bon accord

where the crush of last minute purchase

to secure favours in the coming

year are packed in so tight that there is no

escape from it all, the relentless must get this,

sprout after sprout after washed down, forced down

holding nose down sprout, cooked to death, force fed death

as the gargle and false puke noises outrank the endless

television adverts for the hot summer climes…

winter calls,

I don’t answer, not for the first two weeks anyway,