From the revised book – with the printer – too late for edits 🙁 Ho hum.
Chucked out from
The Bar Tropicana karaoke
After midnight and too much rum.
My nose feels broke.
Bouncing off rain running alleyway walls
I staggered home
When I slammed my front door
The clock crashed to the kitchen floor.
It leans half-cock, propped against
The ‘World’s Best Dad’ trophy
I bought for my kids to award to me –
So many years ago.
The clock shows around two
But it’s probably slow as the sun is rising.
And while the day unwinds its eyes
Mine are heavy-lidded. Closing fast.
There’s blood redding my shirt
Dripping from my busted nose
And a lump at the back of my head.
From some other hurt I never felt.
Needing space to stand my glass of bootleg rye.
I sweep the table clear of mouse droppings,
Stale bread and cheese crumbs, nail clippings.
Watching them shimmering in the sun’s rays –
Diamonds falling to the threadbare carpet floor.
My head is running low and slow.
I’m wrestling thoughts of god or gods.
And life and death.
And what I should and shouldn’t do.
Where I don’t or do belong.
What to say and does it matter anyway?
I thought I’d pray but that came out wrong,
“Goddamn you, god!
Why won’t you give me a sign?
What did I ever do to upset you?”
And my glass drains of rye
And the glass fills again
And the sun stands tall
And the light hurts my eyes
And I roll a fag from ashtray butts
And light it from the stove
And the smoke buzz swirls my brain
And the walls melt
And the room dances
And the chair rocks
And the table dances
And the clock ticks
And the sun dances
And dazzles my eyes
And I… slowly…
Draw back from the dawn.
I wake, sprawled over the table.
My top set’s dropped out in sleep,
Plastic gums and tobacco-stained teeth
Puddling in blood and drool.
The landing toilet is blocked and stinks.
I shift plates to the side of the sink and pee.
And lean over cups to upchuck my guts.
And cough and retch.
And cuff my mouth dry.
And, beneath the sink, reach.
For the next to last bottle
Of what passes for rye.
Stored for emergencies
Beside bottles of bleach,
Harpic and Jeyes Fluid
The clock shows two-ish
But it’s probably fast.