He walked with a line of fire
from sternum downwards
red hot barbed wire
He didn't expect to be torn open
twisted into reflection
but he got ripped by flashbacks of utter insularity
No liberation. No one.
The one guarantee.


~ ~ ~


Jailhouse Rock

She's good-looking
straight, black hair
fanned out over her shoulders
good vibrations

I'm taken by her creamy skin
the cheerful way she talks
musical, like a philharmonic
playing versions from the charts

She's just dropped her baby off at the crèche
the one up the hill from my house
We're chatting about the spring
flowers in the front garden
how the traffic on the main road
has got so busy we need a crossing
when I wonder if she'd like
a cup of tea, a joint

We listen to Steve Miller and America
fool around on the floor
fool around some more
then it's time to get on

When my wife gets back
I'm chuffed
– knowing she doesn't know
– keeps me going for another day


~ ~ ~




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