It's not often that a working-class writer gets poetry published by such a prestigious and chimerical bookhouse as Ballyer Press. So while stocks last get your roller-skates and matching elbow-pads on and feed your minds, body and soul on such poems as:
Why The Privileged Need To Read Literature;
Conor McGregor And His Amazing Technicolour Tracksuit;
I'm Damned Because I'm Not From The Country;
The Priest's Not Gay He's A Pervert;
Born And Raised In The Jacks;
We Are Bumfluff;
Hugging Farts;
The Unbearable Lightness Of The Ironic Man;
I Wish I Was A Giant Electronic Frog With Pink Lips;
No Palestinians Allowed Beyond This Point;
Every Time I Cough I Fart;
Watching Mrs Brown On The Telly;