Second home

I'm sat here by the radio thinking of your dear old Dad 

Those midnight serenades, his grappa grated husk 

You could hear the pain in his smoke filled lungs. 

Perhaps it was the night time shifts as a nurse

or something from his past.

 

a baby in my arms

I never knew I could dance, until I had a baby in my arms

(to be read in a southern accent)

Blockbuster News

My helpless palm and reflexive thumb

I approach news like Blockbuster on a Saturday night

Rub eye, refresh, red eye, refresh

And I'd throw my phone into the sea with ecstasy 

Only to drown trying to find it again

Soup and vodka

...

One month on a diet of soup and vodka later, we met at the bandstand 
She said I looked great, I said lets give it another go, but she told me she was done. 

I said we'd become strangers. She promised me we wouldn't . Promise again I said... 

I wonder if the years have been kind to her. 

Patchwork Pavements

I found therapy in patchwork pavements as the sea threw up waves in slow motion. 

I'm fully on board with trying to make sense of the world in the gutter but the selfish side of me wishes to be preservative free. 

I remember my first watch

It illuminated the night. 
It didn't show videos of llamas on crack
Or explain how to survive a nuclear attack
No, it just illuminated the night... before turning black

I remember my first watch.
It had my heart rate beating as it should,
My personal best was how much I was bent
in half at the finish line,
How tall I stood 

I remember my first watch.
the other switch for 24 hours
It didn't tell me the quality of my sleep
or try to sell me blue pills on the cheap,
no it just switched to 24 hours with a muted bleep

I remember my first watch. 
It would never show the town airing its dirty laundry or friends from another time frequently reminiscing with wine

No it just illuminated the night... 

and told the time 

A Mothers love

She bought him the bar

The satin oak, that wouldn't let Friday or Saturday night soak ...in

She fixed chandeliers above every table

Bought him a wine cooler full of dom perignons 

and uniformed the staff, so the cocktails made themselves 

She bought him the finest canapés he couldn't pronounce 

Put it all on her business account

She bought him Sinatra in surround sound 

The best musicians from around the town 

Brought in all walks of life, his future wife

and it all... went up his nose

Passing on

She heard there'd be screaming traffic, skeleton trees and a sea of regrets. But she was faced with gentle closure and a field in bloom where it was just too good to wake

Bread and dripping

And he played his violin over bread and dripping as Westminster conducted him. He scorned new phones, peroxide trainers and tattoos. 

He wanted budgeting  - bread and dripping and Westminster conducted him

Touch the screen to start

Fresh breath down your neck

faultless delivery beyond
the desperate depths
of former colleagues waiting in line
for payday loan sharks
back to handouts

a house of cards.

society knows about this weather
but never dresses appropriately.

Please touch the screen to start.

My son

Dinner time is like a one man opera
My son takes the role of many
thespian characters.
Tears cut to laughter so
Seamless. He has talent. A method actor. 

Maybe he just doesn't like brocolli but likes crisps

Last orders

When the day is done at 5.

And smoke perfumes the past.

And Shiny Happy People*

is another way to fast.

And the last of the office lights 

make you feel she's gone for good. 

 

It's Autumn. 

There was a void like...

Trafficked trees                         
Only seconds with the dying sun 
Monday owning her Sunday best
A double bed on its last legs,
(just a commodity for selling sex)
A bus routine, the blank faces
Another day with a bare lake, a weekly window gone...
Memories fading from the age I was someone
Old friends flying to unfamiliar places (to meet new ones)

Just a few passing thoughts as they call last orders.

 

Paris for us

We did Paris and I got sick.

I just about made it from a day in bed to the bistro next door. 

I ordered dry fettuccine and the waiter met me_with a blank face_ 

She bought fashion magazines but wanted the Louvre - 

Flicked through TV channels but needed subtitles. 

And   when   I  was  able, we walked by the Seine. 

Traced the citrus notes over the waves

. and then hung on to the railings. 

We walked until the blisters on my heels were like radishes. 

Gave a begging man, freshly squeezed orange juice and a block of dark chocolate. 

He.kissed.the.air.  

We made it to the Eiffel tower but didn't have the money to go up or even to buy one from a suitcase. 

And so we broke bread on the grass and watched. 

That was Paris for us.

There was a bridge, a trip switch between my stomach and my sanity

I was on my own 52nd street, heckled at for poor time keeping

Charlie parker ducking a cymbal  

Only severed syncopation between my lungs and my breath. 

Every time jump leads to get them moving together. Every time a panic attack

 I'd cave under invisible pressure, trying to be present,

melt in the mirror, take in the bigger picture  

The only time I didn't break down was on a sofa, with Rick Stein repeats

So that's where I'd be for months.

Economic agents

Workers wear overtime on the catwalk 

It's vogue for the everyman 

I do solemnly declare I did not enjoy my day off

I started work in my sleep and finished in A&E

 Ah but...

'In my day we worked when we were dead.' 

More schemes

I paid by finance and felt as though I was cheating on my wife. 

Tell me why I'm headed to jail?

Because you still haven't paid the interest on Sunday's lunch. 

Bucket of ice

My friends said I should write light
write up when I slept with a
bucket of ice one night
Submission in summer
'A record breaking heat wave'
(until the ads were clicked)

I dialled 0 for the desk
said I couldn't sleep
I NEED TO CHANGE ROOM NOW!!!
they said it wasn't possible
but sent up the bucket
which I threw on the bed
The steam set and I slept

I'd already said goodbye to
some body weight -
the usual stuff, heart ache
but this was another way.
Oh well.

I almost went heavy again, didn't I?

George Floyd (the sequel and prequel)

This year was for
Sisters of the moon
a thawing echo chamber
a piano player with broken wrists
asking for full disclosure

This year was for
clarifying instincts
while zoning out to television repeats
These mediums, a choir of canaries 

This year started with the Coopers
and ended with statues of slave masters
in the deepest rivers

RIP GEORGE FLOYD 

AGE

Somewhere between top of the pops disappearing

A G E

and a paedophile priest

 
He got older. 

 

Can't you just curtsy

Can't you just curtsy 

those who've harboured PTSD

from 12 hour shifts, 

a blitz of screaming fits, the pits

Up against a sideline of

Michael Fish sceptics

Wearing the dark eyes of a 

doped up graveyard 

A hospital in 2020.

Underpaid  undervalued.

Can't you just curtsy them ...

if anyone at all.