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My best friend

Simon Barraclough

sees every Iranian flick,

makes tiny notes in caffs,

likes a full English

but not a fried slice

because fried slice is ‘wrong’,

listens to The Beta Band,

sucks on a pipe full of cotton wool

that I bought him, pissed,

on Seventh Avenue,

dealt with his Mum’s suicide,

gets to the smallest exhibitions,

makes all technology go wrong,

stood by me when I went mad,

understands Hegel

reads a lot of S-F,

lives round the corner,

comes to Lambchop gigs,

eats too quickly,

drinks Maker’s Mark,

might be leaving town.


From Magma no 27 (Autumn 2003)