plenty enough

I had an old music player

the same old seven vinyl albums

I played over over

that & a radio needing batteries

more often than I had them

& books

these came from the library

or there were a couple of bookstores

offering a two for one deal

I’d pick up unreads from friends

any old shit they hated discarded

such were my evenings

sat in my worn dumpster chair

pen notebook close to hand

reading with the music soft

in case the phone rang

it never did

or the door got knocked

that seldom happened

no tv no booze no women

there were a few times these turned up

good women who appeared disappeared

to sneer at the lack of furnishing

complain about the empty fridge

mouldy cheese bread & who needs butter anyway?

they would want to improve the place

& later try the same for me

new sheets curtains a towelling bath mat

these of course lasted longer

than any of them ever did

they’d complain I wasn’t the marrying kind

huff & puff slam the door be gone

the problem being I didn’t understand then

what the problem with me

was

me

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