Wake up from the daily grind

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.

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.


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


Caballero, donning

Baseball cap and

Poncho – No –

In his dreams

In real life

He’s wearing

Jeans his

Father had

From some


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


Untied I was,

Today, a floating

Balloon, no

Direction, just

Wind gusts of


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,


Bearing them on,

This new day,

24th Birthday gone.

Taped up

He was


His mouth


Sounds fast, on the phone.

Quick, professional

Like someone

In a hurry.

‘I’m sorry

Did you

Have a





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,


Go out, get up

Get up go out

Out out to the

Girl he lost somehow,


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


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,


Bewildered, lost.

He wades from

Bar to shore,

Where the natives

Are feasting,

Warming the

Pub’s wood


Do they speak


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


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,


Arms wreathing ribs,


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]