i remember
when i was young sprout
thinking that if i was the first human
it would never have occurred to me
to eat food
or make love
that was an absurd thought
for a cruciferous vegetable, i know
but come on and eat me,
end this limbo
let me go
my whole life
flashes before my florets
i’m sliding off the plate
into the wastebasket
into the bin
a cardinal sin
and you know
i don’t see any chips in here,
you philistines.
i am a prize!
how did this happen to me?
am i weird looking,
or weird being?
you reach the top
you’re hot
and then you’re not
just one shot
then you’re compost.
it’ll happen to you too
one day.
memento mori.
i regret nothing.

have i written about the reverse columbo before? in columbo, the detective series, detective columbo presents as a bit dim. like a c.i.d. rocky balboa. but then at the end, he would be half way out, and he’d raise his finger – just one more thing. and he would point out a little detail, immaterial probably, but it would be just enough to tell the suspect that he may as well have been caught red-handed.

the reverse columbo is when, at the end of a presentation or discussion, you ask a question that reveals that you haven’t understood anything. why did the statue of liberty on planet of the apes not depict an ape though? perhaps they revered humans.

mind the time
you over-ordered carbohydrates
a panicked salad reprobate
arancini, croquettes and chips,
you had a need that i could sate
pumped with protein
and polyphenols
light and taut
and a little bit special

june is a good month. may, the month of invitation, is my favourite month. but june is the month of the yawning day. it is a very special time in northern latitudes. happy memories of walking home from being out nightclubbing and the sun is up already and i’ve not even been to bed. after work, i can go out riding my bike in the country side. and, as i write, it’s warm. there is sunbathing to be had. tan lines to be burned. brocolli to eat.

broccoli can’t be a prize,
everyone says,
or would say
if inquired of.
but my stem’s tender
as a lover’s thighs,
crunchy with salt,
drenched in rendered
fat, yum
pair me with focaccia
and dipstick me
in extra virgin
verging on
extravagant…
a celebrity
of humble bent

hello, welcome to june and the final stanza of part 3 of my epic poem, the love epochal, ‘giletdonism’. i know that pride comes before a fall, obviously, but i think this is the best month of poetry by any poet ever and you, dear reader, are very lucky to get to read it all. the month, obviously, starts with a five part series about a tender stem broccoli.