Autobiography

In another January
Before smartphones, after Facebook
The kindness of acquaintance proves to be
The key to our survival
Sitting in the stairwell
Drinking cheap wine
Slicing cheese with whatever
We can find in a handbag
Perfume samples
Debit cards
The obvious tools conspicuously absent
Abby Polgardy newly arrived in Paris
Treated to a soirée of bohemian proportions
I'd love to have you in but
My old lover stole my new keys
O, the melodrama
And the steady flow of high fashion 
Passing on the landing   
Glancing at the fortress of luggage
Holding me back from falling-in
It felt so important to be ok
Insouciant in the unknowing
And we weren't dressed to join the crowd
Gathering at my new next door
But we were in no position to refuse
Champagne and caviar
Luc returning from a Russian assignment
Allowing me to stash my baggage 
While I searched for friends of friends of friends
Who expected nothing in return for couchspace 

 Grabbed by the shirt collar
Oh the drama 
Of shaking off the cloak
Of apathy
I don’t want any plastics
I don’t want the banister falling apart 
Indolent from the get go
It’s all out in the open
Chicken grease and all

Divorce Court: A Haiku

A terminal yawn

Air of injured righteousness 

Divorce Court: All Rise!

 

A Child

in dreams past there's been a child

vaguely, a boy

shapeless and radiant, possible like mornings

the petty, aimless whims 

that we built ourselves upon 

are placed gently in the pyre

i cradle the doubt 

wailing, screaming

in my arms until it is calm

i press the question to my chest

but no answer

as of yet

Always the End Times

When things really kicked off

during the second summer of love,

Richard tells me that there was

talk of the army getting involved,

but instead the path of least resistance

was convincing the petrol stations to

shut down between the hours of

2-6.

He must have been high on the

really good stuff then, so perhaps

it planted a memory of both sides

of the 

wow I've just looked this up,

the road between Manchester to

Blackburn is called the A666.

So, imagine, it's what, probably around 2.30am now,

and you're floating out of the Hacienda into the back of

someone's Ford Sierra to drive to a warehouse

45 mins away in Blackburn and the government's really 

upset about this and considering calling the army in

and the road you're driving on is called the A666

and you're so high that you've imagined that

both lanes of traffic are going in the same

direction and that's already incredible enough to

me, born 10 years too late,

before I even run a search on the route.

Wow! This world. 

I couldn't get out of bed two hours ago,

and now I'm living in this person's

quite possibly false memory and I wonder

what incredible things my mind 

has stitched back up for me so

my quiet smile has similar purpose.