Easy come easy go

He said his money just goes…as soon as he gets it
the high slips to low,…and soon he regrets it
He’s got no electric, no food,…no contingency
No one to lift his mood…or offer consistency
There’s no reservoir…No magic words spoken
He fell so hard and so far,…now he’s broken
and the tears come easy… wiping out energy
and the fears bring that disease…called lethargy
Consumerist cycle is perpetual. … Buy. Want more. Buy more.
Resisting proves ineffectual, … an instinct embedded to the core
He is clinging to the bottom rung… of the wealth disparity
and he’d give his right lung… for some clarity
the government tells him… hard work brings rewards
then constantly fails him, … taxing all he affords
So you didn’t go to Eton… or get lined up for Oxbridge
your hopes are beaten… of holding privilege
of being heard… or influencing policies
left to unpick the blurred… line between truth and fallacies
which we are fed …by each politician
until your political head… is in remission
we fall into pace… with every other commuter
just to face …another day at a computer,
phone, counter, factory line, … [insert other dreamless job]
not chosen by design… but keeps gas on the hob
until we reach pension …and we can gather our earnings
and put life on suspension… and follow our yearnings
but poor health comes through… being poor
dream retirement view… of the hospital floor
And widens the distance… between the haves and have nots
From kensington existence… to the fruit machine slots
From private healthcare… to foodbank reliance
Residing in Mayfair… to gang alliance
There’s no direct route… from dickens to disney
And the boredom to boot… will keep you in misery
He has low level literacy… and low level aspiration
What’s lacked in competency, … gained in perspiration
The drug dealer life… is looking appealing
Or the edge of the knife… or noose from the ceiling
With each breath… he asks what’s the point of living
When you are bereft …from constant giving
if you believe… what you read in the daily mail
Those who receive… benefits cause this country to fail
Not the taxing… loopholes found by the wealthy
With legal teams maxing… the chance to be stealthy
And avoid contributing… to the people beneath their feet
shocked by looting… when they are the looting elite
Only they don’t use… a bandit mask or swag bag
Or prison blues …and an electronic tag
They use donations, … transactions and handshakes
Influencing inflation, … and who gets tax breaks
Behind every politician… is a word from their sponsor
process of attrition… by thieves among honour
We fill our prisons… with victims of fate
And leave all decisions… to criminals of state
A plan so ridiculous… they get away with the lot
Details meticulous, … a Wes Anderson plot
As they pull the wool… right over our eyes
Spinning a yarn full… of deception and lies
The strongest regime… of control is a class system
Split a country at the seam, … ignite the divide within them
Suffocating any attempt …to reform build and grow
Burying the signs of contempt… deep below
As welfare crashes… and past policies rescind
They scatter the ashes… of hope in the wind
And this current joke… we call democracy
Is more like a bespoke… Cameron autocracy

Table for one

An apology, 18 years late.

By the 3rd time you asked me out for a drink

I couldn’t think,

I’d used up my last excuse, I found it too hard to refuse

so you picked me up at eight. We headed straight

into town, to down, a few gins, and so it begins

…it could have been the air that night, but something didn’t feel right, you had no insight, I felt nothing ignite.

In truth my mind was fixed on another, possible lover, who was at the time in some other

bar not too far…away.

His smile made me feel wild.

And yours…defiled.

So I told you I needed to use the pay phone, left you and the stars all alone, said I’d be right back, but I didn’t look back as I slipped away, with not one heartbeat delay

straight into the arms, charms and eager palms of him.

When I thought about you since, I wince

and wonder how long you waited. And it might be belated

but sometimes I imagine you wept while the bartender swept and you kept

the bar mat from beneath my glass and clung to it as you pass

girl upon girl refusing to commit, afraid to admit,

that your heart is unfixable

but we had only known each other a few weeks so that kinda reeks…of insincerity.

Maybe you stayed and your imagination played

a scenario again and again on repeat so you rose to your feet and winded the guy on the right who took flight

knocking the bloke by the bar with the scar

that you gave him after you had a quick spar.

You nutted the dude by the door, he hit the floor

then with a heroic swirl you stole the heart of his girl

and left, without feeling bereft.

Maybe it gave you time to think, and not sink

into depression but find your aggression

to tackle life head on and strive on to become something great, like prime minister

or something less sinister

and now you live as a CEO

in a condo

that is bigger than the pub we met in, without forgetting

what the experience gave you and somehow you want to thank me, sincerely

for offering you a new life and a hot wife.

Or maybe you were approached by the M15 because in your situation you were THE representation

of James Bond. Conned by someone you were fond of now ready to channel your hurt into digging up dirt of political foes that’s how it goes. Just what they needed so they pleaded to have you on board. You can now afford

yachts in Monaco but everywhere you go

the Russian’s follow and your life is still kind of hollow

because each girl you have to leave allowing them to believe you will return kinda burns…reminders from your past. You hope the next mission is your last.

Maybe you set the heart blazing of someone amazing and she saw the chance at a glance to slide into my seat and meet

the man of her dreams.

You instantly forgot my existence unable to have any resistance

your hands met and she led

you away to her bed

instead.

You have eight children and a very large dining table, your relationship is stable and you are able…

to save all year for Christmas.

Or maybe you just sat for an hour before the cold made you cower and as the evening grew dank, your heart sank from the humiliation you were feeling and you left to go home, alone to start dealing

with mending your pride, from the inside.

I am so sorry.

Upper Cut *new*

Life doesn’t pull any punches
it hits you square in the jaw
Stomach caves, shoulders hunch
fingers grip the floor
This punch blindsided us all
We fell like dominoes
scattered and left to crawl
Until one of us rose
Together we picked up each other
formed a boundaried space
for everyone to recover
A commonality in each face
processing the same loss
with unique levels of pain
weighing up the real cost
then rebalance and reframe
The impact will never fully heal
leaving a residual bruise
and this feeling we are meant to feel
from a fight we weren’t meant to lose
a fight we hardly knew we were fighting
a fight we thought we’d won
a fight we weren’t inciting
a fight we never begun
against an invisible opponent
that resides deep in the host
clouding the vital component
grows like a seed in rich compost
and there is no light to shine
no patch of blue sky
no cloud with silver lining
to make good when the young die
but between us there is a solidarity
a force of human instinct
to offer one another clarity
to remain closely linked
to hold up anyone who shakes
and find a lost smile
to mend the heart that breaks
and although it will take a while
we can feel sunlight for him
we can keep open ears and eyes
we can fill life to the brim
tell ugly truths and beautiful lies
we can shed tears and breathe deep
we can forgive and release grudges
we can laugh and dream in sleep
and we can roll with the punches.

Aftermath

Zip boots over winter tights

Ignition on. Lights.

Window frosted, steamed inside

Heater on. Eyes dried.

Heads down, collars up

Sipping on a travel cup

Traffic flows, traffic slows

Clouds move as wind blows

Chastised kid lags behind

His face on her mind

Newspaper tucked under arm

Monotonous resigned calm

Shops open, queues file

Small talk, fake smile

Money changes hands

People making plans

Clock in clock out

Choose lunch, check out

2pm stands still

Gazing at the windowsill

People watching people wonder

til rush hour pulls you under

down stream to home

yearning to be alone

empty footfalls empty street

close door wipe feet

deep breath dry cheeks

hours to days days to weeks

futile world spins

another day begins