Mary Jane

I remember you before now,
football, geography, Dextrose.
There was some hope there I suppose,
Broken in three places,
A spiral, a snap, a clean break.

Where are you? The common,
The rafters of the garage,
The milklight soaked hill behind His house,
the stolen spade at your side,
a brainless smile passing your lips?

An old Oasis bottle, grey duck tape,
so crude it makes me smile,
so crude it makes my heart burn,
Dry tears clutch in my throat like the wet smoke
of a home within a home.

Your ambitions passed through this,
all for nought as She would say.
Do they miss you? Do they use you?
Who cares you shrug, awake but asleep,
I have diabetes, I can't help it.


No, my friend, my patient, my comrade. You can't.

KJR

Your God hisses, splutters, like rain on hot tarmac as it roves the 92 band.
The White City cannot control it; its hymn has not tamed it.
Mass may be cancelled today. But it is not yet 7:05.
The Church sellotaped, broken, missing buttons
Sits on the windowsill. Behind cows lumber like lost storm clouds.

We came here for you. UNESCO they said. Lies we thought.
The English Riveria, no such thing.
Slow, pointless, silent, perfect,
Beauty beyond red crags, broken commons, green walls.
But it found you.

We ran, it followed. Simple as.
Foolish I suppose to think it would leave you alone;
or you would leave it alone.
I wish you smoked. It's better for you.
Hard work never killed anybody. Lies we thought.

The paper today, no garden sheds, well good ones at any rate.
God's teeth snap the toasted roof tile.
It is clearer now; sobre, omniscient, omnipresent, benevolent.
Coffee, strong. Cappucino to show we love you,
Mixed with a fork.

Dulled, tired, laughing. No more pairs in this basket.
"There never will be any more pairs mum",
Poirot will find them. News. One. Number. At. A. Time.
"I can't see the TV. My eyes are tired,


I must go to bed."

Hello.

In the words of a good friend of mine:

Dear World,

Hello...

(and so it begins)