it was late

I was talking loud

as I can do when wine drunk

aware with all tensions

as my words were not getting through

to my vino sozzled mob at the table

the death of the hippie my theme

giving in to passion writ large

the death of the hippie was an event

the Mime Troupe the Diggers

Emmett Coyote all the mommas

recognising hippie was done

over

taken up by the store greedheads

selling shit beads mandalas incense

paisley rags run up in sweat shops

too many kids had run away arrived

hoping to find a dream instead got hungry

exploited found the wrong drugs people

missed the message of inner being

but bought the fashion to fit in

never the hippie way

the substance the ideas were lost

in graphics music written words

& me you we were the losers

because there was a time when

love was all you need

& all that’s left is smoke dope

beads mandalas paisley patterns

who?

had I become

shrouded in memories

haunted by the you’s

of sordid histories

chances taken

squandered

openings disregarded

wilfully missed

to sit here alone

in an old coat

pockets with holes

bare table but for a bottle

sipping on something

to make that last

knowing nothing

ever does

but the eternal of

why?

what?

when?

joined now by

whatever

on the train

trying to shift my head

out of the dawn sun

slicing through the glass

as they witter on on on

& he said so I said

she said so I turned to her

& said what about…?

the struggles of the working poor

trying to make sense

out of the everyday

striving for jesus make the day

to knock soft on heavens door

hope for a place at the table

home for those worn out feet

& I would love them more

if there was a bottle between us

something to take

the edge off away

help me get into the zone

prepare me lord

help me earn my pay

kir s’il vous plait

dirty sign side of the road

washed dark with tyre spray

single bulb lighting FRITES

& I was hungry enough to stop

parked up went in through a dark door

to a just opened easy food smell

a little brunette smiled b’jour

offered me a table close to her

& I realised I’d not spoken

for close on to two days

hearing my voice rasp slow

kir s’il vous plait

which surprised her some

she brought that & a plastic menu

drifted back to her kitchen

while I pondered over steak or burger

could this be love?

I ordered the steak & of course frites

which she brought with a smile

a cold beer from the presion tap

suggested bon’appetit & was gone

while I wished we could talk more

after eating I ordered a café crem grande

& still nobody else had appeared

I thanked her paid fifteen euros

left a tip sighed a’voir thinking adios

creaked through the door into the rain

out into my world of driving & silence

once more

so many times

I convinced myself

I was homeward bound

to some place external

internalised

the table spread before me

bounty of love laid out

ready for the taking

with no asking

as

a body has to have

something to aim for

a place to be

other than the here

struggling with timetables

trains bus’es planes

fatigue of head heart

wondering just wondering

where or when this will end

& home

the fantasy of

the only lure

to bring us closer

to moving on