Medication

It grates;
these noises that surround
the hammering and yammering
of the construction workers nearby
the neighbours 3500 Diesel truck
chug chug chugging as he
warms it up
(it’s not even cold, 7C, lightweight)
the sound of a heart
beating in ears
the dog whining in the corner
(has had food, walk and love, but still whines)
stomach churns
becoming worked up
agitated

close eyes
focus on breathing
slow heart rate
prepare
for a light snooze
to the sounds of Shostakovich

I’ll fuck anything that moves

but I won’t touch you again.

I’ve screwed fat, smelly women.
Women who are unaware of proper vaginal hygiene.
Freaks who like to be punched in the face, asphyxiated, humiliated as they orgasm.
Whores with wide pussies that feel more like a dry blanket than a snug love tunnel.

I’ve fucked in dirty hovels where the bugs run down your back, legs and arms oblivious to, or not worried by, the fact that you are actually moving.
I’ve had my dick sucked by toothless women with open mouth sores.
In dirty alleys and broken down cars.

But you
I wouldn’t touch even if paid.

You, of all things in this world,
disgust me.

P-P-Piano

the twinkling
tinkling
of the keys under a masters
gentle touch
has the ability to send me
into a calmer, more reflective place
but, heard at
the wrong time
it pounds on my head
grating my every last nerve
thankfully today
is not one of those days

keep it going

No use in stopping now
you passed the halfway mark
some time ago
keep pushing forward
it will all make sense
in the end

It’s the silent times

late at night
or preferably first
thing in the morning
when the brain comes alive

i can pound on a keyboard
all day
or scribble with a pencil
and it’s most just
gibberish that comes out

but these times
when not a person
is stirring in the house
and the only sound
is the low drone
of traffic on the nearby street
i can think straight

Bastards

What am I,
a fucking old man?
that I need to sleep
in the middle of the day
kills me
burning good daylight hours
just because my body
can’t seem to handle being
awake for more than
a few hours

sure,
I’m ill
my body is rejecting
me
and everything I put in it
but god be damned
I’d love to just sit and read

but then the arsehole next door
starts up his fucking Harley
revvving that goddamned beast
outside these walls
and the cunts at the back
with their constant hammering
sawing
yelling jokes at each other
all conspiring to not let me
convalesce

I’d rather
be out there
in the world
contributing to the noise
not allowing someone else
the peace I so
desire

but enough of this
the napping couch awaits

bastards

Bird feeder

Filling the long empty bird feeder
in my yard
has brought no end of joy
and motion
to the avian creatures
currently flitting
and diving
throughout the back garden
even those damned
starlings
are a welcome sight
and a joy to watch

Weak

He sits in the local coffee shop, on a barstool at the window. Staring out through the condensation at the blurry world. This time of year is great for that. Not cold enough to freeze, just cold enough to warrant a jacket and a hat. Sipping the over roasted coffee, he thinks on the day to come. The small girl behind the giant coffee machine yells out another finished drink, adding to the blanket of noise that envelopes him. It helps him think, actually clears his head in some Zen-like way, keeps the dissenting voices quiet.

Today will be the day, it has to be. There is nothing that can stop him, he knows it.

He checks his watch, 8:19, and then looks through the blurry window. What will she be wearing today? How will he recognise her? Must get up and stand outside. He shoves himself back from the counter, grabs his coffee and backpack then heads out into the street. Just a few minutes and she will be coming across Yates, heading to work on Fisgard. Every day for the past month he has met her here.

He checks his watch again, 8:21, and there she is rounding the corner, headphones on, eyes focused on the ground a few feet in front of her. Her short cropped hair slicked down, showing off the lovely curves of her neck. Bright red plastic rain coat and matching boots help her stand out in the bland winter crowd, filled with browns and blacks. The sun glints off her jacket as she crosses the street, glancing up and making eye contact with him, a hint of a smile on her lips. He tries to smile back, but instead ducks his head, gazing at his shoe. “Keep it together, don’t make an ass of yourself,” he mumbles. He feels her getting closer, his pulse quickening in her presence. “Hey! I just need to grab a coffee, had a late night and need some caffeine today,” she says, cheerfully. “Yeah, no problem.” He glances up at her as she dashes inside, “OK, before we get to work…” he thinks.

3 minutes later and she is back outside, looking more deflated. “No fucking Soy Milk, so I had to go for a black coffee. They blamed the high winds last night for not getting a delivery from the mainland, but come on, there’s like 8 grocery stores in a 5km radius..” she grumbles and then shrugs, as she always does when perturbed. Nothing seems to matter to her, everything can be shrugged off. It’s one of those qualities that both entice and annoy him.

They start their walk to work, enjoying the morning weather, and the people rushing about. The noise surrounding them is good for him, helps keep him focused on the plan. He must ask her before they get to work, just in case she turns him down; saves face that way. Work is looming ever closer as they cut through Fan Tan Alley, not saying much, just walking.

He works up the nerve, gets ready to speak, and then… silence. It’s as if the entire city just stopped. Not a sound other than their breathing and footsteps. His mind races, losing focus, thinking of all the reasons not to ask her; formulating her every negative response from facial movements, vocal, body language, everything. The sweat starts pouring off of him, rivulets falling down his forehead. His face feels hot, very hot. His eyes start swimming, looking for something solid to focus on, but the world keeps shifting and moving. It starts to go dark, and he catches sight of her hand, shooting out to him, grabbing his arm. “Woah! Easy there… Are you OK?” The world slowly comes back into focus and he finds himself on his knees. “I…” the words don’t want to come out, his mouth dry. “I… would like to see you after work…sometime,” he whispers. She leans in closer, “What was that? Are you OK?” He tries to answer her, as the world goes black, “I love yo..”

morning

the quiet of the morning
is when my mind is allowed
to be free
no distractions
other than the ones I
create myself

just me
coffee
and the dogs
fresh of a morning walk
silence broken
only by the sighs of the dogs
and the occasional car on the
road outside

why is it then
that I can’t seem to
produce anything worthwhile?

Idiot

Idiot across the street is out again. Standing on his front step, talking on his phone, all the while rubbing his beer gut. They fight a lot over there; Son screams at mum, dad screams at son, things get smashed, son storms out. It’s like one of the best dysfunctional families Victoria has to offer. Sometimes they scream at each other outside, and slam car doors and kick garage doors. Sometimes they are inside and you hear their muffled shouts over the incessant traffic. Even with construction going on, you cvan still here them.
As of right now, all is quiet. Idiot just stands on his step, rubbing his belly, looking at his aging white F150 truck.