Things took a nasty turn in toytown
The day reality walked in.
Dolls grieved stillborn tears
As golliwogs were lynched
By monomaniacs with no conception
Of wonderland.
A misdirected match made
Alice’s Pollock’s toy theatre a Globe
Whilst at Drury Lane
The stage revolved anti-clockwise
And refused to stop.

Some people are too good for Madame Tussaud’s
And better suited to taxidermy
Like Jeremy Bentham.
Deflocked shepherds of a morning
Confuse whimsy with warning
So to those that toy with affections beware
The going can get tough
For those that do not love enough:
You might become another’s teddy bear.

Bits

After you’ve cleaned you always find them there,
those little bits of food or dirt or fluff
that drive people to housewifely despair.
You know you’ll never manage to do enough

to turn your house into a home that looks
as though no person ever makes their mark
or writes or thinks or plays the piano or cooks
or has plants that shed foliage in the dark,

as though no feet had ever touched the floors
or fingers held the cutlery or glass.
But secretly you think they must be bores,
those cleaners who live only to polish brass.

When it comes to it, you’re happy to confess
you’d rather leave things in a bit of a mess.

Hello,

I’ve been having a couple of weeks off to concentrate on my one hour show Juicy, which I’ve been touring in preparation for the Edinburgh Fringe, and also another exciting project. But normal service will shortly be resumed! 

Robert Garnham 

Editor