Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Before the appointment

  Café full of those decent people

                 all pipes
                     all that joinery
                                wiring on show
           in grey disappearing skin

                         worked up as unworked 

                                 wanted blotches and
                          concrete washes

                   The wall is like a wall is somewhere

        I drink oolong tea better dressed
        than any of the other children
        (including the red-haired lad
        with the Raphael tattoo)

        said an amulet, strung

                      chatter bubbles bloom very steady
                          that sprung same talk

                picture: myself, fifty feet up
                  lifting a big old head
             with work sticky hands

                       thumping sweetness

                      (a hidden baby 
                                 corner sigh)
                    the worn and
               paling tongue shut
                             up in doors

                     Aren't I to be childish any more?
          The words in the tune are, “You just
                  keep on saying
                         the same thing”.
              There’s digital clapping hands.

   I’m going off soon enough I’m gone


  1. The café (perhaps like the bus in this respect) proves a fine place for observation.

    Without even having asked, one gets a side order of life.

  2. Very glad you had a slice of something living here, TC. Thank you.

    Here's to Sister Life. And to every waitress, put upon and run about: their uprising.