Murder.

Simon murdered a guy,
lifetimes ago,
in black and white,
over some heroin
somewhere in Sydney
sometime in the seventies.

He did five years for it
before he was acquitted.
Out of the blue
all charges
were dropped.

Simon's father was
a very wealthy man,
but still
had waited five years
to cover up the kill
to pay a down and out
nobody
to take the fall

Waited five years
so that there would be
a compensation payout.

So that his ledger
would be squared
while his boy was in there.
While his son was in there
rotting and scared.

Profit and Loss,
Boy,
he told Simon
as Simon emerged
back into the light
five years of fight
and hurt
in his heart and
hardened
in his eyes.

Profit and loss,
Dad.

They used the
compensation money
to expand the family business
Simon moved to Melbourne
away from his past
at last
and over the next ten years
(they buried their fears)
the Father & Son
became extremely wealthy men.

Simon was a murderer
when he met Susan,
but he didn't tell her
right away.

First were the flowers
then the dinners
then the cars
then the bedroom
then the animal
then the truth.

But Susan didn't mind.
She needed shelter,
and his Hell kept her warm
and his violence kept her hidden
and her room was painted
black and blue
for
the nights when it happened
and
the sky
when she cried
for her son,
the passenger,
who tugged on her sleeve
and said,
he's not here
can we run now?
Please?

But Simon and Sue
kept dancing their
doom, until
eventually Simon
murdered her too.

Simon was a two time
murderer, and Simon
was my father.

Boy did I run.

Run into the
changing colours
black to white
to anything bright
talk to me blue
hide me red
change me yellow
change me yellow
change me.

And years went by
like that.

Simon was a three time
murderer,
the next time I saw him.

Another wife
in his life
had fallen on her knife.
It happens
I suppose,
and so on
it goes.

And my empty heart and
hollow eyes noticed
the metaphor
when I saw him,
the pane between us,
and thought
I'll use that in a poem later.

She wanted my money Mathew,
that fucking bitch wanted my money,
she fucking took the kids and she fucking wanted my money
I fucking worked my whole life for that fucking money
that's my fucking money my fucking money
my fucking money, you know me,
you know me, you can say I'm not like this
I'm not a bad person Mathew, you know that,
it's just when people fuck me
when they try to fuck me, when they take
when they grab, when they steal
like you Mathew, you stole from me
but I forgive you, I forgive
because that's the sort of guy I am
Mathew,
I forgive you.

I took a cigarette out of my packet
that day,
very slowly

looked at it
looked at the coat of arms
printed on the paper
looked at the gold band
encircling the filter
I noticed that cigarette
was particularly well packed
before I lit it
before I drew back the smoke
before I looked him in the eye
and said,
Goodbye Simon,
Goodbye.
And that night
I cried.
I finally
honestly
cried.