Geoff Hattersley (British Working Class Poets)

Geoff Hattersley

Geoff Hattersley has been publishing and performing his poetry since 1984 and still hasn’t kicked the habit. His publications include Don’t Worry (Bloodaxe Books 1994), Harmonica (Wrecking Ball Press 2003), and Outside the Blue Hebium (Smith Doorstop Books 2012). He lives in West Yorkshire and has been married to the poet Jeanette Hattersley for 35 years.

When You’re Pushing Fifty

When you’re pushing fifty

it gets harder to wake

to shake off the drink

shave with a clear head

get out in time for the bus

do a hard day’s labour

the sweat pouring out of you

with a bitter smell

When you’re pushing fifty

you’ve dreamt most of your dreams

can’t recall them now

all that remains

are the motions you go through

saying the same things

as if you still meant them

through what’s left of your teeth

When you’re pushing fifty

you’ve read all the great books

know there are none to come

you don’t believe in miracles

you no longer hope

for social change

know phonies and killers

will always be in charge

When you’re pushing fifty

you’ve suffered a lot of fools

now you show them the door

you just follow your own nose

it’s smelled most stuff by now

it knows bullshit for instance

it can smell a rat

or a rare flower

When you’re pushing fifty

you know you don’t know everything

you know enough

you know just as much as you can take

you know a good move when you see it

or a bad mistake

there’s a lid on your rage

now and then you hear it hissing

***

Stupid Stuff

The supervisor

Had something on his mind:

‘Every time 

You open a paper

There’s some celebrity 

Showing their arse,

What’s wrong 

With these people?’

I thought about this

And other stupid stuff

As I toted heavy cardboard boxes

Full of personnel files

Up three flights of stairs.

Fifty-seven trips

On one of the hottest 

Days of the year.

Tom said he’d report me

To the union

For sweating on the job.

But we don’t have a union.

Then we heard on the radio

That Dennis Thatcher 

Had passed on.

Shirley said, ‘Poor Maggie’,

And I laughed. 

But to her it was no joke.

Funny how you can 

Go off people.

Well, I’m sure she’s gone off

Me too.

***

My Shoes Need Cleaning

I am the ultimate slacker,

It says so in a review

Written by a man who puts Dr.

At the front of his name.

And then I stuff the magazine

In the bin and wonder

If I should cut my fingernails

Or merely roll a cigarette.

I do work for a living, though.

Nobody there calls me Dr.,

Nobody calls themselves Dr.

I guess nobody’s a Dr.

***

---

Setu, October 2022 :: British Working Class Poets