At a civil ceremony
I wrote Pasmas
On a wooden door
When in Eaton Constantine
I became thirsty
So I brought the baker a drink
I never write obituaries
Of great men
Only their birth notices
I am quite fond of gravel pits
But do not care for the colours
Of mechanical diggers
As I cannot count
I will write no more
Than seven poems
In a theatre
I felt the actors
Were watching me perform
When I sailed to Norway
No catering services were available
So I constructed jewellery
In Siberia the tea tastes sour
But I admire
Their cigarette cards
Please read these in any order