so many ways

there were all kinds of crazy

living in the hotel cheap week rates

near to the seafront beach

& I’d run that every morning

something to do try to change my ways

she’d come round every afternoon

floral tea cup held out y’got anything to drink?

& I told her every time I wasn’t drinking today

but she never believed kept knocking

the thin gay boy who wanted to suck my cock

who too didn’t believe when I said I was not inclined

& the fateful night

coming in late from night school

her door was open come in! come in!

I’ve had a windfall

the crazies all there sipping from bottles

I sat for a while dozing under a yellow lamp

as the crazies drifted away one by one

she droned on about past loves

big money scores to come

& around two I woke to a head between my legs

warm fuzzy feelings I’d forgot I could have

waking in the morning thinking time to run

in so many ways

crawling

we meet around seven

usual bullshit reason to meet

& the beer keeps flowing

& about the second one in

I realise I’m bored

the noise is too loud

can hear mebbe 2 in 3 words

as the bloat starts in

I’d rather be sat in a wine bar

some soft muzak on low

sipping a soft Corbiere

asking how do you do?

instead we watch the pool players

telling tales of matches we won

as the evening crawls on

drifting from pub to bar

walking on unsteady feet

& then somebody orders spirits

& I’m gagging on dark brandy

that I must swallow for the craic

knowing in the morning

there will be no clock turning back

to days when I could

even wanted to do this

but now it’s a bore a chore

to be done for some bullshit

occasion

because it is our tradition

our way of bonding

there is romance

in hearing her

rattle the toilet roll holder

there against the wall

knowing in seconds I can get in

do my thing

get the morning going

there is romance

hearing her breathe

guinea pig sounds in the night

snuffle pig I call it

as she moves restless

between too hot sheets

there is romance

in the smells the closeness

intimacy of two rotting bodies

living together doing exactly

what nature demands

there was little romance

when I lived apart

rattling in rooms

farting in the stillness

sleeping alone

dying in solitude

gracelessly

burned out

there was a time

my ancestors say to me

late in the day

when the moon is low

the wind is sleeping

the sand ceases to move

of a time

when shut up

was never heard

we would bang our drums

sing until morning

or the singing was done

in this way our hands

reached back all the way

to those gone before

& then came

the time of shut up

we were not to talk

sing of these things

that connected us

to those who no longer

walk the day

& like the fire

before you now

growing colder

this is how they

burned us out

ended our culture

tone poem

the air hung

thick & heavy

with the kind of accusation

you can’t back off from

I was being strident

apparently

where I felt I was being clear

had that sense of pronunciation

making sure

every single word was heard

while the accusee

felt it seemed that shouting

slinging shit words

tripped more easily

from that tongue I once loved

& the morning could not come

quick enough

to ease the pain

we were creating

no love left

only the hating

once the words are said

they can’t get put back

they have to be gone through

sometimes

until there is nothing left

say a little prayer

every morning

she’d expect a call

as she was putting on her make up

ready to go about her day

& like the sap I was

I’d be calling

even if especially if

nothing much to say

& this was not as though

we were heading to a life together

going to be setting up home

she was rubbing her main mans nose

in the shit she had going on today

thankfully I never met the man

had the sense to bring this to a close

& she said she would never speak

to me ever again

which goes to show I guess

those early morning calls

were about nothing but control

some specious pose

but man am I ever grateful

she kept meant every single word

& we never spoke again