|The British poet Richard Brammer in no way conforming to the stereotype of the British poet|
Death of a Salesman
William Burroughs — ‘Burroughs’ — signs a copy
of The Naked Lunch over to you
not like a baton
on the 4th October 1982, whilst The Smiths
play their first gig at The Ritz
just down the road.
It sat on your gas fire for years
the one you can’t turn on anymore
because it gasses the man next door.
My new pills, remedially labelled
with all the days of the week,
an anti-depressant advent calendar,
I choose Saturday
and pull on my Danish Noir pullover
for the café, the hub of my operation.
I shake sugar into my coffee
— hub, a wheelwright’s word,
first became common currency
in the early nineteenth century,
during a craze for bicycles.
poem by Richard Brammer; reprinted online with permission of the author.