Sunday, May 18, 2008

Auto B.

We're sitting in the back yard
of the family home, chain smoking
and drinking tea and there's no need
to hide here, everything is on display,
and I wonder if it's my turn to be strong
or if it's yours?

It's yours,
she says.

If it was only one thing, or two,
I say,
as I'm feeling blue -
then of course I could do it,
of course I'd get through.
If it was only the memories
which still dance just out of reach
and if you permit me
I'll empty now to teach
myself how -

a spider in a pool
a man throws me in
a hand in my hair
bunched tight
my tears on a sheet
her blood on the street
and glass in my eye
and a thousand and one
fucking reasons to hide
to bury this panic
as a time capsule,
not to open
until you're really not prepared
God
I was so scared
that day I came home
from the funeral
so scared in fact that half the time
we were there - I was scared
scared she was fucking him
while I was away
on my Mother's last day
and she was
(in front of the mirror even
the photo said,
as though they wanted me
to be the reflection)
but at least that stopped the fear -
Anger, I was used to, Anger I could
use to vent the savage cauldron
which had been boiling for years
and I ripped them both in half
and had a sad, sad, vicious laugh
about it all
over some beers and whisky
late into the night
and then on -
on to end a tiny life
on to punish myself
for never making it forward
on to hurting you
as you hurt me
because pain is the only language left
when you're dying and cold
this verbal release
grows old
and I don't want it anymore.

It's the account of my past
which has given me no currency
for the future
but for a few careless words
which leave a sad clown and
failed poet
and you know it
don't you?

You know it.

We're sitting in the back yard
of the family home, chain smoking
and drinking tea and there's no need
to hide here, everything is on display,
and I guess today
no

we don't have to be strong,
not today.

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