never broke one day of sweat

I don’t hate these guys

far worse than that

I despise them

running to their mummies

oh so prissy wives

the man said’ed a bad word

save me save me please

these simps

never broke one day of sweat

of their hissy fit lives

lived bread & cheese

until pay day came round

worried about dying cars

gas for the bike to get to work

wanting life to be all flowers

& pretty pretty things

while us lesser mortals

know truth

taken on pre-owned

people you know

don’t know

I never really knew him

‘til one year into his recovery

had not realized how drunk he was

zoned out into the narcotics

& her I was with for two years

six months building that

eighteen months to get out

disentangle myself

sort out which

were my behaviours

which I’d taken on pre-owned

the silences happy times

she had

now labelled bi-polar

manic depression

like so many things

you need to know

you never find out about

until your time comes

again again

which was unexpected

there was no quiet

out there in the desert

miles from anywhere

dirt tracking stony ground

& all we had were

a couple of thrift store blankets

a six pack some crackers

a low fire to keep warm

& a bottle in case that went out

each other to hold onto

as the stars wheeled overhead

inching towards the cold dawn

& if I have a heartbeat

you ever wanted to

I’ll do all of that again

again

addlestrop

pearls before swine on the watercress line

old carriage heritage steam train

hints of brown faded blues

waiting in the railway siding

one hot afternoon

sitting waiting

hearing the hiss of steam

the birds singing outside

thinking of Addlestrop the poem

by Edward Thomas

with The Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams

read by Geoffrey Palmer

searched found this on my ‘phone

this poem from 1917 the war years

played it in the silence of the hour

the piece came to an end

they’d never heard it before

had no place inside to hear the beauty

no feeling for its grace

I put my phone away

as the whistle blew

the train departed the station

leaving the moment discarded

as pearls before swine

on the watercress line

a fren’ of a fren’ tole me

the playground never goes away

a fren’ of a fren’ tole me

he does x on the weekends

gets drunk all the time

kicks the cat when he’s down

the neighbour four doors along

heard from her neighbour

she goes out dressed like x

all the time

gets home drunk early hours

falls out the cab with strange men

& her

& him

& on

with the gossip asinine accusations

behind hands closed doors minds

the playground battles go on

fighting for ascendancy

of your own little square patch

of nothing

no evidence no crime

whispers tittle tattle to tell teachers

help you think

you are one better than

mes amis

the walls listened

sucked up my self-pity

lost alone again

more nights of nothing

what to do when you know

of no other way?

as thoughts go round

around again

so I’d sit

hit the typer

try to put down

what I felt I thought

thought I felt

it is the lost kids

get caught over

over again

waifs strays

sucking up beatings

paper thin defences

nerve endings

ah but you know this

eh mes amis?

fast with the lip

poor habits I had for a while

being bad at the fist fighting

but fast with the lip

meant I took a few beatings

sure I’d say to myself

as I stood under a cold shower

hoping to ease the swelling

wash away the blood

he got told

will remember that cutting line

the oaf

shoving my friend’s girl to get to the bar

throwing a punch when I suggested

he get better dance lessons

I grabbed as he hit pulling his shirt clean off

as I flew backwards into the crowd

but I bet it was me the next morning

stiff & bruised who remembered

the important lessons

unfortunately being a slow learner

in breaking bad habits

that learning took some time

ethics n shit

I’m a therapist she tells me

cognitive behavioural therapy

with a misplaced air of defiance

got a certificate framed

hanging there on her wall

& I’m trying to be nice

if confused by the hostility given

asking after her theory of practice

how she works with the people

coming thru’ her doors

which hits her bedrock of no answers

seems to frighten her into silence

creates a sense of being attacked

beyond the reasonable questions asked

to me you seem a controlling person

& she flashes screaming shut it! shut it!

finger pointed in my face

& being a gent of the old school

I fan the flames of archetype

is this your thought process

how you hold others

help them find their way in the world?

but already I’m leaving

there will be no way forward

or answers here