I wrote three novels

plots for three plays

radio-series that ends in nine ways

In my head

In my bed

When nobody spoke

Laughed out loud at a joke

So cruel my sphincter began to unspool

My characters filled me with so much glee

They seemed to be more me than me

American producers added glitter to my shine

‘Unique Voice’ the Booker panel surmised

Fingers reached out to clutch the Nobel

Daylight the only surprise

I go to my desk and wait

Darkness

It’s getting late

Diet Coke and tea don’t work their magic

A drink of writers’ tragic steadies my hand

The Bard in my forehead begins to expand

My head drops

Snuffle like the child-catcher sniffing out clues

Only one stop from the idea’s shop –

I’m turfed

rhyming nightcap with night-crap

Language the cruellest joke

Hominids and homonyms for foolish folk

Queer-text at the best of times

Let it snore!

Let it snore!

Let is snore!

Merry Xmas.