Where new writing finds its voice

Missing from the Point of Duty

Dean Wilson

Woke up
at twenty past four
with a nosebleed
and morning glory.

On the way to work
saw a man pissing
and two foxes.
The future is medieval.

In the canteen
Danny the amateur boxer
showed off his latest tattoo
while lads gathered round

a mobile phone
to watch a woman
doing god knows what.
The future is medieval.

Had words with the boss
about a wonky wheel
on my trolley
just as the two Sues

laid into Jesus
for preaching 
to the casuals.
The future is medieval.

Got my head bitten off
by a scientist
for dropping a laggy-band
on her doorstep;

picked it up
and thought of the damage
a brick could do to her car.
The future is medieval.

Walked home texting
a broken-hearted ex
with shingles
until I got waylaid

by a man with a sweat patch
on his shirt the shape
of the crucifixion.
The future is medieval.