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