Poem 6 - I have my yellow boots on to walk...

The sixth draft poem for Matthew Sweeney's Guardian Unlimited workshop:


I have my yellow boots on to walk,
the sort I always wear for an operation

like this. Lucky charms, you might say.
But don’t talk. The next few hours

will need to be as delicate and precise
as disarming a bomb, and as skilfully

executed as a hole in one. If I pull
this off, see, it’s the highlife abroad,

some gorgeous villa on the Med
with its sun-kissed walls, and a swimming

pool next to which I recline, the shimmering
waters, cigars and cocktails to pass the time;

in short, a world free from misery and strife.
If I fuck this up, I’ll be banged up for life.