Exploding Myths

Top Ten Gods
I remembered something
Turn off the gas
As my wife came home
Fag in hand
The house exploded
Then she was gone
In a puff.

I’ll stop riding
Knocked off bikes
Driven by cops to
Orienteering
Drinking cans
Of Polish dissent
In knee high mud
I sink.

Now rehoused
The social grant
Spent on flock and
Packs of cigs
Money never grew
On trees I planted
Until the day
My missus took
Her last puckered drag.

Witching hour
Wake up sweats
Domestic shapes
Restored at once
Nightmare spirals
My wife will tell you
Leave at once
She has never smoked.

Picture This

Hairs stand as
Forced marched
Porcupines
While over used
Eyes sting like
Chillies on a
Wet cotton flannel.

Change that bloody
Photo
Almost sepia in
Its drab colour
Reminders of
Missing girls
Put to bed in
Lonesome ditches.

You were young
Pretty and tipsy turvy
On Babycham and Cherry B
We know all this
Misplaced youth at
Fag burnt formica tables
Boyfriends high on
Brown ale and Hai Karate.

Now you’re older
Wiser and loveliest
Of frizzy haired
Serial wanderers
Saturday club nights
With Freemans and
Littlewoods watching
Family allowances drip
Drip drip into deep
Silk lined
Saville Row pockets.

Sit there, I’ll take a picture
8 megapixels of
Beautiful you.

Castle

I know you are
Pushed
Easily but carefully
And when you feel
Love is in your grasp
You surrender
To ideas so
Terrifying in
Their simplistic
Barbarity.

Like that long
Dusty
Broken road
Three wheel carts
Lying impotent as
Discarded lovers
In poisoned
Moulding ditches
You stagger on
Feeling dirty
Hungry and
Sexy.

When you enter
Finally
An unlikely victor
Choosing castle rooms
In near exhaustion
Slim fingers gripping
Woven silk
Riding hard to negate
Your raging thirst
And if another comes in
Without looking
You raise yourself
And welcome completeness.

As your sweet sweat
Runs in hot rivers
You are home
At last.