She writes notes on plain paper
to send to her lover
another
and tells me I don’t Communicate
She sends flowers by interflora
to another
an ex lover
and tells me I don’t Communicate
She leaves messages in Lipstick
to herself on the mirror
her real lover
and tells me I don’t Communicate
She screams at me
2 in the morning
a sometime lover
and tells me I don’t Communicate
I tell her to fuck off
Get the fuck out of my life
She’s a lousy lover
and I can’t Communicate?
The weather improves whenever I think of hannibal, those elephants climbing the Alps and the flowers that must have improved after that campaign, sure trails widened, got broken, but think of those Flowers…
when
love is good
lust kicks in
beauty swims by
sunshine warms me
dawns grow in a corner of the sky
cover the ice in blue flame
cicadas wake me
horizons glow red at night
food happens
my shoes fit
Sam the dog barks
waves break right
or left
money gets paid
on time
in time
for my time
gin n’ tonic is cold
lemon just-so bitter
underwear don’t ride
trees sound like rain
grass sweet against my teeth
old friends call
traffic flowing
lights all on green
courtesy given
taken
mist over the ocean
yachts reflected still
herons fishing
sweet latte & good company
beer and humour
music from the centuries
I’ve lived
dancing like a mad thing
for the glory of it
baby gurgles
soft hands
big as my finger
first words
from all the above
and YOU
just lying there
tongue lolling
side of the road
waiting
for me
another day
not that he’s unfriendly
it’s the knowing
he’s always waiting
wanting to sneak up
be my friend
take up my hours
any time
any day
a faithful friend
I’d prefer
not to have
she says
and doesn’t notice
she already has
if I died
would you live with someone again?
and that’s not a question
more a minefield
so
I say no
loving once is enough for me
and she smiles
a crooked smile
and I know now
an answer to a question
I never knew to ask
though
whether I answered truthfully
may only be answered
by time
& then I spoil it
the truth of it is
the most rotten trick we have
is that we get you to love us
& then we die first
not now
when you are young
but in your late sixties
maybe seventies
& starting over
then?
I figure it out
Finally
not to call her
writing myself notes
to hang near ‘phones
DO NOT CALL
and I’m good
but then
of course she calls me
I try for polite
distance
even
she notices
asks what’s up
and I can’t
don’t want to tell
feeling my resolve melt
insides wearied again
maybe
I think
another
few more months of this
Sartre was wrong
Hell is not others
it is being me
at the end
the doing
of this shit
no matter the situation
you don’t change
I say
he looks blank
has nothing to say
has brought nothing
no conversation
to this party
a mute flying Dutchman
sailing through
leaving no trace
so what do you do?
nothing
he replies
nothing
& I’m wondering
how?
just how
does a body
do nothing?
when everything is on offer
all it needs is the taking
reaching out
plucking
he doesn’t change
I don’t change
& I wonder
will we ever
meet?
If I can still call you that
I don’t know where we parted
all that’s left is guesses
which I think you know
you want now to read with me
be with me-like you always did
but now
its a holding on to what I once gave
freely
left behind in those moments
that cannot be captured again
as words
pictures
painted by lovers
on seashore sands
from ocean blunted sticks
pebbles blown in volcanoes
shells frothed over time.
I gave easily as I could
though moment becomes lost
in each second
direction is fought for
my madness
stays on
babble in your ears
as we lay together
wanting to find you
hold you
maybe be you for a while
while I slipped away
somewhere around daybreak
from
your need to understand
place
mine
surface
to be seen
about 8 or nine
coming home from school
hungry as any hollow legged boy
looking to eat quick as can be
tonight she’d say is a special
I’ve got cowboy toast
place the plate in front of me
a strawberry jam sandwich toasted
& later years I’d find out
this was the old mans leftovers
from his work lunchbox
but back then I’d wolf that down
& be wanting needing more
in better times
there was an egg & chips
with bread & butter to fill
thick broth soup as the vegetables
& in the other room
where this gets all Cinderella
she’d be eating her steak pie
with strawberries as her treat
& if I ever argued about that
or she could find a way
I’d be sent off to my room
with no supper
as soon as I stepped through the door
& the only thing to do with this
is to ensure you do better with your kids
forgive them that forced their poverty on you
if not money
in the spirit
draw the line clear & say
after this
no more
I remember a couple of good’uns
but the ones that really stand out
are of course the difficults
not the screaming shouting ones
that’s all just background noise
it’s the searching the bars & pubs
where she had just left gone on again
finally finding with the dwarf in jester kit
kissing sitting across her knees
snogging for the new year to come
other drunken women starting fights
over nothing that would cause scars
during day or more sober times
pissed confessions in front of strangers
tears & recriminations to their delight
free entertainment dramas on their night out
& poverty can’t be at fault here or blame
there were other great times sitting the nights
with cheap cider & good friends as company
forgetting hardships in friendship & more
& the common integer must always be me
that & my poor choices in women
all of this in events gone before
