So lots of people are hopping on early, and since I missed the bus last week, am determined to get on quick, before it fills up completely.
Here is monday's poem, posted live from Chart busters while listening to Beyoncé and small children shouting in the background...
The poem was to be based on watching "Garage" the great film starring Pat Shortt, took inspiration from his character in the film - and without further a waffle -
B's tongue protrudes between wet lips
when he's thinking something out,
when apple trees don't grow in his stomach
- no matter how many pips he eats.
when a throbbing, tightening at back of his throat
isn't someone banging drums
it's something else
He never shouts
but lets it dive down deep inside, reeling,
turns it over
watches the colour flurry of it,
he doesn't sit
feeling sorry - but smiles for miles and miles on his walksabout.
B lives in the clover
doesn't feel no credit crunching
when he's munching on another apple.
Some day one of em will work
- he knows
and everyone will go berserk,
when apple blossoms sprout from his nose -
when he has purée on tap -
coming from his ears -
and seven years supply of cider, and how it flows -
B will sweat the sap, the juice, the fizz -
and people will know then just why
and just how special
he really is.