I am thinking about the people who are sitting on that fast train that just went by in the distance, and the fact that some of those people are probably gazing out of their windows and looking at the same low sun as I am, and some of the same fields and trees and maybe even houses. And maybe some of those people are thinking about the people in those houses who are sitting in the last rays of sun of the day and looking out at the low sun and the fields and the trees, thinking their own thoughts about the people who love them or the people who don’t love them back or what they are going to have for dinner. And just maybe, some of those other people sitting outside their houses in the last rays of sunshine of the day, like me, are thinking about those people on that fast train that just went by in the distance.
Category: Issue 6
new office
Pint of Milk
I’m just a lonely pint of milk,
I stand outside the door.
It isn’t quite so lonely, when the
customer wants some more.
For then I have companions
and we have a chance to talk.
And looking at the people who pass,
we can watch the way they walk.
But how I wish when empty,
you would wash me nice and clean,
‘Cause when I am cloudy,
I’m ashamed of being seen.
So please remember Ladies,
before you put me out,
Give me a rinse, so I can be,
proud to stand about.
New Abode
Goodbye to the cobwebs, that gathered dust
with their static clinging, hanging like sailors
ropes, the filth their devoted mollusks.
Goodbye to the threadbare carpets, that gave a
clear view of the floor boards, their perfect lines
like a summer garden, laid out with turf, the broken
cassettes, cigarette burns, rusted cans and two year
old birthday cards its blossoming flowers.
Goodbye to the lounge, with vast fortunes of copper
that fell behind each seat, the patter of falling plaster
like lazy April hail, that falls in time with the creak
of each door, the drop of every tap.
Goodbye to the evenings blazed in smog, our voices
like the lights that hung bare, our hands too lazy to
dress them with shade. Our palms however, never empty,
with prayers among dust; goodbye to childhood.
@martinadams
Martin Adams hired a black Ferrari for 24 hours,
He instagrammed over 2000 photographs that day,
and entered over a million hashtags,
By the evening he had lost all of his followers.
Sunday Afternoon
We used fingers and thumbs,
hands squeezing bums,
but no tongues
in and around delicate places,
just in and out of each
other’s faces.
It was fun,
something to do on a
Sunday afternoon.
social media sandwich
Carrot
You & I shall create a person.
As acting cruel God, I will beset him with a toothache; rendering most thoughts
metaphysical & esoteric the best part of redundant.
You could put her in a beat up & battered pair of german paratrooper boots, a size
too small, if you so wished.
Akin to many of life’s fortunates, I shall make him of mixed-race parentage: Father
of Polish extraction? A sturdy & stern, upright & downright political animal of a man
from Lower Silesia. A slow-burning splenetic to boot, perhaps?
Now for her Mother – a Ceutan? Yes! A blithe & libidinous ochre flame made
feminine by flesh. To be near her is to be in the presence of one of Mother Nature’s
favoured daughters. An obscure descendant of Ammi-Saduqa, no less.
Let’s score in some rudimental sensibility for him. We can make her favourite joke,
in its contextual entirity be: “Mam angielsku zagadke dla ciebie! Co to jest pomarancza,
i brzmi jak papuga?………MARCHEWKA!”. After you translate this to English, shake your
head & ask him why – she blushes & would like to change the subject.
Time to send our man forth to stumble & gawk in the labyrinthine corridors of the
collective mind.
Paying no attention to the pattern (which you quite like for its Art Nouveau qualities) on
the path-worn carpet, she has picked up pace now & if she had not of spent most of
the quarter-mile walked assessing & cursing her footwear, she’d have noticed that
every fifth door to her left is painted a pillar box red & ajar.
Bored of this, I have him stop, turn to his right & come face to face with a diesel-blue,
riveted metal door with CALIGULA ROOM scratched upon its surface.
Cats Know What’s What
The cat has turned
her back
on the tidings
of Magpies
high up on the roof.
She has concerned herself
with paw licking and
catching the last
rays of summer
It’s all about
Wood Pigeons
these days
anyway.
Pat Sharp’s Mullet
Pat Sharp’s mullet
went solo years ago
Pat Sharp’s mullet
now lives in Mexico
Pat Sharp’s mullet,
his middle name is Trouble
Pat Sharp’s mullet
is a highly paid stunt double
Pat Sharp’s mullet
saunters when on set
Pat Sharp’s mullet
lives life with no regret
Pat Sharp’s mullet
wears Primark never Prada
Pat Sharp’s mullet
drives a clapped out, old blue Lada
Pat Sharp’s mullet
likes sushi, coq au vin
Pat Sharp’s mullet
is a ruthless ladies man
After a long run of hard luck…
… Anton won big at the casino. Let’s not get specific but it was a life-changing amount; more than enough. Anton didn’t have to take his own life, but the fact remains that this is what he did. Is it important to know why? Is it of interest? Perhaps and perhaps. He was a roulette aficionado if anything, but triumphed on the blackjack table. The rope was already coiled up in a cupboard back home. Make of that what you will because who keeps rope in their home anymore? I myself will probably go that way some day, but not like that, how Anton did it. He might have abandoned the game halfway through but for he caught a lucky break, being dealt a run of hands so winning that they beamed. By the end of the night he’d won, he calculated, more money than he’d ever put into the whole venture. The rope was long, longer than him and it was thick, like gym rope in a school. It’s hard to say how he was feeling as he turned in his cards. He had to loop it though a fixture in the ceiling and when it came down it piled handsomely upon the floor. The chips took some time to count out, stringent checks were performed upon his ID and there was a moment where he thought he was never going to be allowed to leave. Priapism is a common side- or after-effect. He exchanged a small amount of chips for cash and the rest was wired to his bank. A cab took him back home where he loosened his tie, poured himself a drink and sat down to take in the enormity of things. After that, well. After that is after that and we all know what happened next.
Battlestar Senatehouse Library
if we were aboard the
Battlestar Galactica
you’d probably be a Viper Pilot,
and i’d probably be an engineer
or a deckhand or something
probably i was blown out of the air-lock with the rest of the
nobodies
back in the mini-series
i’m pretty sure you’ll still be there by Season 3, caught-up in a
sub-plot
about the Cylons
and whether you’re one
i don’t mind, but
when the writers finally decide
it’s your time,
spare a thought for the generic overalls guy
Penance
He told me he’d come back if I pulled up my socks
up past my thighs, up at where the leg stops.
He told me he’d stay if I wore only an apron
while brewing him coffee and frying his bacon.
Now I’m not quite sure if he’s aware of this
but bacon’s grease is angry, it hisses and spits.
And this may not matter but when you’re wearing no clothes
it bites at your shoulders, your breastbone, and toes.
It’s a lamentable thing that no compromise comes
when you’ve done something awful and you’re in the wrong.
For his begrudging forgiveness, by his rules I’ll abide.
I’ll click on the gaslight and burn up my pride.
ABOUT MY BED
Oh no, not again I said
I’m dreaming things
about my bed
With a lettuce quilt and
a cream cheese spread
I sleep on a piece
of soft white bread.