Coconut John I recognise the worn teeth of his rattle-clacker against the Waltzer’s siren. No name in lights or thumping decibels, a row of ugly numbskulls sitting cockeyed on sawdust pedestals. The years have whistled him by, the same shock of silver hair, the puckish smile still spoiling for a dirty joke. Looks like we’ve got a contender he announces, slipping my pound … Continue reading Two poems by Dan Stathers