Voice Message Poem by Alistair Graham

Where to bloody hell are ya?
I wouldn’t rake ya
Fetch the eggs
from the backside of the hen
I wonder would ya?

Are you trapped beneath the compost heap?
Are your socks and shoes scattered on the lawn?
Are you on the list of missing persons?
Will you appear on the back of the milk carton
on my kitchen table?

Are you there you scoundrel?
Listen to the call of the wild. Wild man in the trees.
He’ll fight you on the lawn at day break
with the clashing of grass rakes, for god’s sake
speak to me

Are you in the Holywood Hills
with your back on a flower bed
and a length of straw between your lips
pish-drunk in your undergarments
quaffing from a bottle of merlot

and your bib stained with the muck of this earth?