Wheels on the bus
Go round and round, round and round.
Carry us.
Cleaners, brokers,
One ear off or, surround sound,
All yous, hark
The timetable
Perpetual, it turns found
Into lost.
lost
A favour, somewhere outside Havana
Camel back
Fist snack
Taken from
A branch
Hanging low
Over Cadillac
Driven last
On a track
Broken off
From Havana.
Pomegranate
Hip flask
Drunk deep
From lip-
Thirst, taken
Out from glove-
Box locked up
For fear of
Bandit- brigands
Drawing near.
But lonely
Is the track
With the Cadillac,
Deserted in the
Heat, it hosts
Only one, the
Thirst-quaked
Caballero, donning
Baseball cap and
Poncho – No –
In his dreams
In real life
He’s wearing
Jeans his
Father had
From some
Canadian,
Bootleg cut,
That was the
Fashion, so
He’s told,
Faded now,
Patched all
Over, hot
In the heat they
Itch at the groin and
Pinch at his thighs.
In the distance
A spot-billow
And the grunt
Of diesel – mule
As a truck bucks,
Rearing onto
Track’s horizon,
Will it help?
Stop, get out
Proffer aid
To a fellow,
Soldier of the
Road? Hoping
So, he gets
Out, our poncho
Dreamer, and
Waits – under
The same tree
Mentioned earlier
Orlando’s wheels
Turn, truck driving
Over track to
The Cadillac
Beached beside
That strange
Old tree he
Passes every
Day on the
Way into Havana.
Break, stop, lean
Speak, hola,
Man exchange,
Help, proffered,
Help accepted
Wheels carry
Four legs and
Arms, to Havana,
Hungry but
Calm, Cadillac
Waits for
A tug and
A push
And a glug
Of shampoo
Grounding myself with a ‘To do’ list
TO do today
To do today
To bring me
Down, tie me
Tight, back to
My rod, my
Inner sense,
My knowledge of
Myself, my
presence in the
World.
Untied I was,
Today, a floating
Balloon, no
Direction, just
Wind gusts of
Temptation
That wouldn’t
Have blown
Me off were
I tied up, safe.
But loose was
I, without
That knot of
Thought that
Used to be
Mine – That I
Gave to him
To untie or
Not. I think
He untied it,
I couldn’t see,
I’m a balloon,
But anyway,
I blame him.
The Birthday Girl and the Lost Boy
Trapped in here,
This head of mine
Fringed with hair –
Bad cut, don’t
Mind. Trapped in
There behind a
Card, the face on
Which we set the score. How many
Looks taken beyond
The casual glance
Can we reel in
And feel, use
For energy and
Self esteem. None
It seems, for me
Except my self,
Glancing at windows
As I pass,peering
In at the stock
Behind those
Bags, saddles
For the eyes,
Underneath.
Bearing them on,
This new day,
24th Birthday gone.
Taped up
He was
Although
His mouth
Spake
Sounds fast, on the phone.
Quick, professional
Like someone
In a hurry.
‘I’m sorry
Did you
Have a
Good
Birthday
Anyway.’
Yesterday
Behind the scenes
The sets were
Moving his
Mind’s Eye in the
The dark, no
Light back there,
They knew the routine, blind.
Get up, eat,drink.
Play football,
Score, eat, drink
Water then something
Stronger, stronger
Stronger till the
Drum stretched tight
To numb the eyes
With a dull thick
Beat bump heat
Bump heat bump,
Drunk.
Go out, get up
Get up go out
Out out to the
Girl he lost somehow,
Carelessly.
On on on
To the pub’s
Strong arms,
Blue awning, benches,
Tables , gables
Green with evergreen, all
Greens and blue
To him, no more
Definition, only drink. On breath,
On toes on feet,
Aged four
Again, finding a
Way, feeling the
Floor.
In he goes, head
To the bar , order
More if he can.
Drink more if he dare.
He does, the part
That’s survived the
Tide of liquor.
Awash, lone survivor,
Drenched,
Bewildered, lost.
He wades from
Bar to shore,
Where the natives
Are feasting,
Warming the
Pub’s wood
Furniture.
Do they speak
Language?
Do they understand gesture?
Will they eat
Him alive, stirred
In their Pad Thai?
They pound with
The music, these
Questions unanswered.
He sinks down
Like and animal, neither feral
Nor domestic,
Slumped, hunched,
Stooped, even while
Sitting, laid low,
Still reeling
From Exposure to the Sea’s
Blue gin.
They decide he’s
Inedible after
Little discussion,
Having glimpsed
Him and smelt him,
The liquor then the
The sick. Sea-
Sick he explains
But they can’t understand,
Hes forgets again and keeps
Talking, waving his
Story, weaving
Yarns between mumbles,
Got hurt at football – some fool,
Something dribbled.
Out, outside,
Hurdle over, trip, the
Menu, a black-board
Trap the natives
Set. But he
Succeeds to shelter
By the plane tree,
Native too.
Leaning there
He has a thought.
It passes like a ghost
Visiting from Before.
Come back, he thinks
With his shipwrecked brain,
Come back, come
Here, lets meet again!
Alone again, he leans,
The foreign tree bark
Wont respond his plea.
Forward, through sound
And sand. Up, down
Up, down, people
Standing,natives
Feasting still,
Chatting on, a gurgling,
Almost painful.
He makes out a figure,
A She-one, carrying water,
He sees through the glass,
He holds it, drink, heavier than
The tree to lean on, he thinks.
She proffers him a seat,
Looks more like a wall,
He accepts, no offence,
And sinks onto concrete,
Hunched,
Arms wreathing ribs,
Ape-style.
Short Summary
2 minutes to Say
A day, yes, let’s,
Quick, before it’s
Stopped and the
Flesh collapses
Into sleep.
Say a day somewhere
Far off, not today,
That’s been and
Gone, not worth
Its weight in gold,
So little lost.
Say tomorrow, that
Will be, the healthy
World will wake
Once more, tireless,
Unlike me.
The wheels will spark
And something roll –
A Clown perhaps,
With a pair of sticks,
A ball and a gun.
[7th October]
Being Every Day 