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“Call the Ambulance”
London, December 2025
When they checked his pockets
not to see how he died
but who he was before
when he was, just alive
They found;
one chocolate coin
two keyrings, blue keys
one vial of shells
including a bee,
one Fitbit device
that showed no b.p.
as lifeless as him
one pack: Rothman blue
cellophane in place
one lighter from Amsterdam.
A dried-up magic marker
Receipt for a half
Elasticated suede gloves
That smelled of old pine needles
His neck of faint sandalwood
His trousers of fresh urine.
The irony that his phone
Now dark pristine slab of glass
Contained everything to know
About his lost life, his past
No longer available
Because
He would, I think, have laughed at the tragedy
of being hit by a blue-lit ambulance
that then ran him over, crushed his fingertips
which meant that no-one could get into his phone.
"An untitled cinquain"
Broadstairs, November 2025
My old
College local
Charges more for a pint
Than they did forty-six years ago
Bar-stads.
“Sika”
Nara, Japan, September 2025
The deer are very organized.
They will surround you.
They do not use zebra crossings.
They are deer.
They will bow to you for crackers
They do not like being teased
They will nut you in the knackers.
They will hurt.
Show no fear.
Though there are
many deer
They are messengers from the Gods.
"Holding Out'
Marylebone, June 2025
While they waited for his dog to die
She placed her life on pause
A spark of life 'hind milky eyes
Weekend trips to old Warsaw
While the bugger's endless tries
In Rugby had become a chore
While she waited for his man to die
She dreamt of turning over leaves
Of copper, gold and alibis
and wiled away the time they thieved
And fantasised
life in St Ives
Before she joined them through that final door.
"This is David Dunn"
Sherington, May 2025
Six months after David Dunn
Stacked cricket bats and golf clubs
Walking sticks and five or so
silent sticky radios
Not a man who drank in pubs
The remains of David, done.
Nothing much was left behind
Once the flocking carrion crows
Flew away with all that shone
leaving the condolence card
sent by his chiropodist,
by the photo of his bridge.
His study has been left untouched
By those who do not care at all
for civil engineering or
fading holiday souvenirs
"The Steel designer's manual"
"Out and about in Monmouthshire".
Nick Goodall has won innumerable prizes for his poetry, and his work is published widely.
Although almost entirely unknown to over eight billion people worldwide, his poems are known by only marginally fewer.
He considers paid-for competitions evil, draws a crowd, and is competitively priced.
His motto today is “Poems do not have to be profound, or long, and can be funny. Its okay”.
He recently ended a twenty-year relationship with Mark Zuckerberg but has been seen with him lately, but doesn't want to make anything of it, so asks that you respect his privacy at this time.
Currently lightly-bearded, he is often invisible, or at least, unrecognisable.