Poems
by John D
Robinson
The First One
He wasn’t aware that I was walking
behind him when he stumbled and
smashed head-first into the side of a
parked car, for a few moments he lay
still, groaning and cursing and then
managed to get back onto his feet,
wobbling, disorientated, fucked up,
he lurched forward with a gashed
bleeding head in search of the next
drink and then I turned away
knowing he didn’t need my help,
what he needed was a drink and that
was what I needed too as I headed
for a place of illegal intoxication.
Camouflage
We could hear them,
they were close,
very close,
we were frozen in
stillness and silence
as we were hunted by
those that wanted to
harm us,
angry feet stomped
just a few yards away,
they were cussing and
damning our very
souls and their harsh
footsteps and hateful
voices faded away
and we were hesitant
to move, scared and
frightened,
then night clung to
us as we escaped
the danger, at least
for the time being.
Rolling Anguish
It happens,
every now and then
it happens,
stoned, drunk, or both,
enough hash for one
final joint
and I roll a fucking
rotten lousy stinker
of a joint: the fucker
goes up instantly in
a fierce flame or for
some reason, the J
doesn’t burn
smoothly and I’m
sucking in nothing
but air: I am too
fucked to re-roll
and the anti-climax
of anticipation
rumbles
disappointingly,
time for another
drink.
