I have a packet of dates on my desk,
Next the telephone handset 802,
I have eaten some and remember in my hot car,
Squashed peaches and a fig of destiny,
Not one to be just scoffed,
And doth not you scoff at these words,
Truth in all these poems I write,
As the Biker Poet,
Lover of life and traveller of time like all that inhabit the watch wearing world,
I wonder if dates on desk means dates in life,
As after all I have mentioned time
