If I go missing

Don’t come looking
I will have found that tree
to sit under
that shady spot
somewhere warm
to write
while away these latter days
a place with a fire
for those cooler nights
a roof
maybe walls
to keep those
I went missing from, out
a supply of paper, pens
and I could be there a while
I kinda hope you’ll miss me
enough to wonder how I am
but don’t come looking
if I need you, you will know
the world is a two way street

alley swinging

I never was much of a fistman
losing more than I ever won
cos there IS always somebody bigger
better, harder
prepared to fight to their last breath
where I could see that
maybe they had a point
I was too loud, too lairy,
too gobby, too snotty, too much
for their souls to bear
and fighting for honour
what honour?
for girls who loved brutes in sweat
some slight said in jest
some doubt cast
some whatever bullshit
they could muster to justify
their putting their hands, fists,
on me
I never had much to back up
to create reason to swing
unless they stole what little I had
and then I would
take back, by force
not that I’d feel good about that