Snowkiss
There’s no need to be afraid this Christmas
the landlords are all gone home to their mums
in outer suburbia we can’t get
turkey, mistletoe or snow on credit
any more than poetry will get us
into the club of our dreams on the bus
gone very hot and fast to bed instead
with the new living elves of a breadline
Grown livid in labouring pains for kids
at the sonnet workshop wanting to sit
on the same old future’s necrotic knee
would it not be lovely to make a bid
adoring sentiment this counterfeit
O kisses of ownership set us free
mariaology 