The Faecal Landscape of Short Angry Men

all apologies

all apologies

it’s just a list

his balls and the string in his pocket

all phoney and fake

a memory of Holden

and Piggy

all apologies and effort

owning up

to the confidence trick

She lay on the bed, restless,

musical background,

Grinding her teeth and

Jerking her knee,

automatic,

Out of beat

All hair and flesh to him

While she knew life

Wasn’t all about him,

Or Peddie Street.

He shudders in the bathroom,

Clutching the sink, topless,

Eyes downcast thin sheen of saline,

Not halfway into the riddle,

And deeper for such.

She lost eight fingers on temple

Slowly dragging them back

Through a forest of hair

As soft as silk

As certain as black.

He places policeman

In his thoughts

He sighs with guilt and warm breath.

is he eighty?

is he eighteen, or eight?

he has a contempt

for question marks

She felt affection but now feels cold

Small feet, confident eyes

How old is she?

Who cares?

He is a bore, predictable but amiable

He won’t attack with hands or feet

Or teeth or head with  elbows or nails

Or random blunt or razor objects

Which lie around The Earth

She shakes her head in miniature psychosis

Wearing white panties with pink hearts

He hangs, an animal, a donkeyhorse with

None of the majesty

Sick and weak  throwing up a little

all apologies for the characters

doused in bleach soaked in mud

the little ones

but don’t you find

who is the better person

we ask ourselves

which one can we judge

He is three score years and ten

But once he stood

Over a different sink

Being sick and dreaming of Milton

Though he never knew

And he never grew

Except for in pain and in wisdom

the name of this poem

isn’t what was written

but my father, my father, my father

she was only ever there in a dream

But she was strong and beautiful

Fragile, grateful

Whatever age she was

He shudders in the bathroom

And dribbles on the floor

She has eyes that see

And a mind which feels

whoever she is, he loves her
maybe
as the world revolves
around his baby
and all apologies
from him
it's just a list
from whoever he is
small clenched fist
diurnally drenched
in the piteous mist