hey

Hey, I’m a poet too
he says
shoves lines at me
got that rhyming thing going on
four lines
that go dum de dum de dum de dum da
spoken like a secret life broken teacher
back in the day
and doesn’t understand
that’s like my cat
offering a busted bird
broken back mice under the bed
after I’ve spent the day
searching the shelves
for the right tidbit for tiddles.

pocket o piss

Strutting around
with a pocket full of piss
the doctor collects these
& my blood
at regular intervals
sometimes they put cameras
where I really would rather
cameras not be put
the tests come back
you are, he says:
old
overweight
have an unhealthy lifestyle
need to exercise more
like I didn’t know these things
& for this
I’m walking to the doctor
with a pocketful of piss
again

‘tifyin’

I hear you’re dragging my name
me
down
around
my once group of friends
to say that I am
ignorant
have poor manners
ways
in all things
I hear these
and haven’t forgotten
it was you pulled me
from the crowd
where I’d slowly
been working through
the hows, whys
of life, love, work
everything that matters
what you forget to remember
with that background of privilege
you flaunt
is that for a while
we were
in the same place
at the same time
& that it was me
who called time
On you.

much

So much that happened
was just one foot in front of the other
a place, a face
a life meandered
the nights drinking
fucking
it’d be good to say
there was a plan
some blueprint
that made it all make sense
only
there wasn’t
just a place, a face, a bar
drugs
rooms to visit
and now its ghosts
at every turn
of dirty deals
done
talking in the dark
attempting sense of the day
nights we held each other against
some drifted, like me
and others went off to others

hot steel

Steel smell of hot tracks
walking the rails
8 or 9 years old
finding dead rabbits
skinning them
for interest
sun high in the sky
searching for green apples
pennies on the ground
tar bubbling through rocks
kites, bikes and skates
forts in trees
days in green
dogs that may/may not bite
tin cans on string
shrieking whistles along the wind
shoes that wear out too quick
out long past supper
hiding from the rain
staying away from indoors
once again

Most

most of ‘em haven’t got a clue
until you tell ‘em
what to do
and then
there are those whose thinking
comes from the last person
they spoke to
(which unfortunately wasn’t me)
they will not know what to make
of you
until another, others,
tell ‘em how it is
for your own safety
its probably best not to confront ‘em with this
because instinctively,
they
do know how to hate

dancing bear

People kill
quickly, quietly
a soft word to the ear
I used to dance for myself
feeling it
feeling rhythm
beats
bass, drums
all of IT
y’know
just wigging out
digging music for me
and she said
wow,
you dance real wild
& that fucked me
I hadn’t recognised
that you have to dance
for others
for them
to watch, see
observe
interpretive dance?
Fuck you.

Western Woman

“I am alone and think I will always be, I can’t find a decent man anymore”
She sat complaining to a group of women in a café
her friends
many in the same resigned pose
over lattes, no cake-too fattening
on a weekday morning, think about that
her first husband she treated poorly
didn’t like his hair, clothes, his friends
those odd little ways, mannerisms
where they lived
so changed him piece by piece
in a twenty year program of snide asides
the long hate crime of ‘you’re not quite right’
everything he stood for,
which in the end was not much
until the divorce
where she took half of everything
which isn’t a lot
unless you are the one who built it up
and started again
in the quest for mr right
found herself back on the ocean floor
out fishing
but the bait is no longer fresh
the fish are no longer finding the hook
they’ve spent decades being
criticised
and
they ain’t biting
this time they intend to keep
what they’ve created from scratch
this next time, if there is a next time, its
no marriage, no kids, no changes
that old hard road was trodden plenty before
and for her
when she does land one
nothing is new
including making him happy
he likes the sex
but it ain’t a weapon no more
to use to change his views
the way his things are
the critique needs, must, be held inside
behind the paint once thrown so lightly
now slap laid on thick
and those hips
ache in the morning
if not the rest of the day
all this adds to the lines
on that once oh so pretty face
the twisted down of used to be open smile
because deep in her heart
she knows it was the younger woman
created all of this mess
screwed up the lovely game
not that I’m laying off all the man blame
he’s being what he’s always been
a man needing love
security
a warm place beside the fire
a home
atmosphere to be light
so he never fought to shut her up
to calm down her tempered ways
thinking hers the majority view
until the day she said goodbye
and took it all away
now she wants it all back
the good old days again
even if she
doesn’t understand the price he paid.