Just To See What Happens

Anaesthetised

With booze brewed

In a cell toilet.

Tattooed

With ink

Made from a melted plastic Coca Cola bottle.

Punched in with a paper clip,

By an artist inspired by hate.

Paid for with cigarettes

Or blow jobs.

His face 

And head

A miniature canvass

Of banal black blotches.

The birth marks

Of an alcoholic womb,

The scar tissue

Of prison rape.

He took his prison bars with him,

On his face and head,

And sat them opposite me

On this inner city tram,

Smelling like an all night ashtray

That a drunk has spewed in,

And hate.

I want to sit quietly

Avoid notice,

Alight when the time is right,

But part of me

Wants a ticket inspector

To set fire 

To the hate fuse,

The personal prison riot,

Bureaucracy and the beast,

Just to see what happens.

Fear kills empathy.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

For Lisa, Christmas Eve

Hush! Hush!

Whisper who dares.

It’s Christmas Eve

In Queen Mary’s dollhouse.

Grandma wants 

The children to sleep.

To this end

She has pulled down the book

That nice Mr. Milne

Gave us last year,

But the children are having

None of it.

Their eyes are scrunched, 

But their legs are kicking

Beneath the blankets.

Because tomorrow Daddy will be home

All day,

And there’ll be food

And cake

And cake is a food,

But different,

Because when you’re full

You can’t eat more food,

But you can eat more cake

And nobody cares

That Christopher Robin

Is saying his prayers.

Grandma tries again

With a story of a little girl

On the other side of the world,

Where the sun is already up

And the girl

And her brother 

Are shooting each other

With brand new

Water pistols.

And she accidentally shoots her Daddy

To laugh at him dying

Like a B movie cowboy

On the floor

In front of the tree.

The children are snoring

Because Grandma’s stories

Are so very boring.

As she glides silently from the room

Grandma dares whisper,

“Do you like eggs children? Well suck those eggs.”

The children sleep the sleep of the innocent.

Hush! Hush!

Whisper who dares.

What’s that you say?

You’ve seen Queen Mary’s dollhouse 

And you didn’t see any children

In it?

Lisa did.

Parkstreet

Carry On

If you are reading this

I’m already dead.

If so,

I want you to know,

That,

There is schnitzel in the fridge,

Lemons,

In a bowl,

On the kitchen bench.

I trust you 

To do the right thing.

I’m sorry, 

I’m all out of Chablis.

Parkstreet 

Ko-fi

Parkstreet

Modesty

There was once a town where the lady who owned the dress shop would protect the modesty of her window mannequins by placing slips on them when she changed their attire with the seasons.

I lived in that town.

Now I don’t.

Parkstreet 

Ko-Fi

This Poem Contains No Illuminati Code

This poem

Contains 

No

Illuminati code.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi

Twisties

Do you remember the time

Your flatmate let me in

And when I entered the kitchen

You were sitting in the window

Slender and wonderful,

Framed in light,

Peacefully eating Twisties?

You smiled at me.

I picked on you

For eating Twisties.

I had to.

You were too beautiful.

Parkstreet

The Birth Of Comedy

Inside the cave a man dances like a fool, to keep the people laughing and distracted from the storm. 

Outside the cave a shaman dances like a fool, to keep the people frightened and focused on the storm.

Parkstreet

Ko-Fi