Commitment Or Asshole?
“I won’t be making it in
tomorrow morning” I said
“But you’re on the rota
to work tomorrow
morning so you’ve got
to make it in” said my
supervisor.
“I’m not going to be able
to make it tomorrow
morning” I repeated
“You’re on the rota and
why the fuck can’t you
make it in tomorrow
morning?”
“I’ve got a poetry
reading tonight”
I said
“A what?” he asked
frowning
“A poetry reading”
I said again
“A poetry reading? what
is that? what are you?
and how the fuck is
that going to stop you
making it in tomorrow
morning?” he asked
looking puzzled and
angry
“Chances are that I’m
going to be drinking and
living until 4am and I
won’t give a shit about
this place at 8am” I
offered as an honest
plausible reason for
not being able to make
it in as per the rota and
I apologised for this.
The supervisor glared
at me with disbelief and
fury and snarled
“You take off that
uniform, unless you
are going to
return tomorrow
morning”
“Okay” I said and took
off the uniform, dropping
the clothes to the floor;
I stood in tee shirt and
boxer shorts before him;
he shook his head
and was about to say
something when I
turned and
walked out of the
office and into the busy
supermarket where I
drew the startled attention
of many curious shoppers;
but it was a bad move; all
for nothing; unbeknown
to me, the reading had
been fucking cancelled.
Grandfather
Perhaps in a decade or
so, my 2 granddaughters
may read some of my
poems and stories and
ask their mother with
contorted serious faces;
“Did Papa really act out
all those drug fuelled antics
and all those horrible,
reckless
drunken escapades
and
with ‘those’ kind of
people?
Papa didn’t really do
all ‘those’ kind of things
with ‘those’ kind of
people, did he?, really?
“Well” my daughter
may say to her
children
“Papa didn’t tell lies;
so I guess he did so”
“URRRRRR, no, not Papa!
he wouldn’t have!”
they may cry in unison
still not believing;
Oh yes he did!
For The Better
There are days,
perhaps too many,
when for my own
safety and for
that of others,
that I stay in bed
or at best don’t
leave the house;
but even this
is no guarantee,
like today,
I was sat at the
kitchen table
reading from my
1st edition copy of
Dan Fante’s
‘A gin-pissing-raw meat-
dual carburettor-V8-
son of a bitch from
Los Angeles’
when there came a
knock at the door;
I was expecting nobody;
I put down the book
and barked
“Who the Fuck!”
I opened the door
to 2 silver haired
retired
well dressed persons;
one male
one female;
“Yeah” I said looking
at the 2 of them;
“I’ve some pamphlets
here” the guy said
holding up some
glossy paperwork;
“Asking WHO REALLY
RULES THE WORLD?”
I glared hard at the
guy; fixing his eyes and
said
“I do”
the silver haired lady let
go a soft nervous laugh;
when I looked over,
she stopped and looked
silently down at her shoes;
“Is that all?” I asked
looking back at the
silver haired guy;
he looked puzzled
frowned and said
“Yes”
I closed the door and
made some espresso
and watched the rain
beginning to fall outside
and then
anxiously waited for
the next asshole to
intrude upon my life.
A Really Bad Habit
One time
a time ago
I had a real
shitty habit
that pissed-off
most of my
friends;
too drunk
too stoned
too lazy
I’d piss into
indoor plant
pots;
in their lounges,
kitchens,
hallways
if there was
a plant pot
I’d find it
and piss into it;
it was damn right
disgusting
and now
I no longer piss
into indoor plant pots
as I’m no longer
invited anywhere
and
I no longer
piss-off
my friends;
I still get
drunk
and
stoned
and I’m still
lazy
but I’ve a little
more decorum
and mostly make
it to the bathroom,
but sometimes;
I piss into the
back yard
beneath a cold
sky, watching the
steam rise
gently into
the freezing air,
beneath the
grin of god
Blood, Shit and Teeth
After shitting blood for
4 days
she suggest that I go
see my GP
and then in the
morning I awoke
with just 1 front tooth,
I had gone to bed
with 2 front
capped - teeth;
the fucker must
have come loose
and I swallowed it
during dream-time;
dentists have always
made me nervous
and that prick
Dr Walter Palmer
didn’t help my
feelings;
physically it was a
painless procedure
financially
it was crippling
and then after
the GP visit and
the usual GP
questions;
“Do you still
smoke and drink
alcohol at very
unhealthy levels
Mr Robinson?
and you have a
daily use of codeine
for pain-relief”
I nod my head
“Yes doctor”
I say with an
awkward mouth;
“We could do some
blood tests”
the doctor says.
“Okay” I whisper
through tight lips and
the gap in my
mouth.
“You’ve got to slow
down a little, take it
easy for a while”
my doctor tells me
and I think of the
Wantling line
‘I’m a poet
fuck me again’
but I don’t say this,
I don’t say anything
but I nod my head
with a dumb grin
and rise from the
chair to go;
“We’ll send you
an appointment”
the good doctor
promises.
“That’s good” I
lisp, closing
the door behind me.
