I hope old Schooner’s all right.
He looked a little cranky last time.
He knew something was coming down the pike.
Birds know. They have a crystal ball.
They foresee earthquakes, tsunamis.
He must have foreseen the sale of the pub
& the old drive-thru that housed his Taj Mahal
of a cage where he held court. Customers
would stop by for a chat and when they were done
he would rasp in his Tom Waits voice, See Ya!
I liked his magisterial presence. I hope he’s okay
wherever he is. Each Friday at the pub I raise a glass
To old Schooner. Here’s to you! I say. Stay cocky, dude.
when you lightning-bolted
into my brain
of pure energy
the eight-minute 40 second orgasm
of ‘Purple Rain’
When I was a horny teen, I sometimes dreamt of finding
paradise by the dashboard lights, but dad wouldn’t let me
have his car so that was that; my big brother who was into
philosophy, said, don’t worry, buddy, heaven can wait;
you don’t know what you’re talking about, I snapped.
I found a gal and we went for it. like bats out of hell.
I didn’t have a big motorcycle, or a belting voice
but I found a gal I hit it off with , so I said to my brother,
hey man, two out of three ain’t bad
*pic courtesy of Wikipedia
It is the birthing time of morning
when the hocus-pocus starts:
the cackling of the kookaburras
over the latest joke,
the sardonic salut of the crows
from the peppercorn tree,
the slap of ‘The Sunday Mail’
on the driveway,
and that text from next door:
‘Hey! You awake? Like to come and visit?
Be my Sunday Male’ 🙂
He climbs the flight
as if he’s playing in
the Aussie Open;
with each step taken
he fist pumps the air;
at the top
his face glows with triumph
- pic courtesy of Wikipedia
Have you got ants in yr pants? Mum would say
When I fidgeted in bed.
Once the dentist slapped me in the face
When I wouldn’t keep still
During an extraction.
My mind would wander like Wordsworth
When I was a kid.
You’d forget yr head if it wasn’t screwed on
Was a comment
That followed me like a shadow.
You’ve always got yr head in the clouds,
Barked Brother Angus
From his pulpit
During Ancient History lessons.
Well, it’s better than having it stuck up my arse,
I wanted to say.
And now my grand-daughter has been diagnosed with ADHD.
Is it any wonder?.
She knows how to make you feel small
loudly with-holding favours
she bestows on all
She makes you wait till the very last minute
then tends to you
but there’s not much love in it
She doesn’t brook criticism, praise
& rejects the crawl
she’ll squash you like a snail you’re so small
Her kind multiplies in prisons, offices,
to some she’s a monster, others a champ
pic ourtesy of Pinterest by behanc.net
That man looks like you, she says, as we pull up near a block of shops.
So he does, I say, having a good squiz.
Only he’s got more hair, she smiles, and less of a paunch.
Go easy, I say.
And look he’s going into the same shop you plan to go into.
Saves me going in, I chuckle. Hope he buys what I want to buy.
Only a minute passes and he comes out carrying a shopping bag.
Let’s see where he lives, she says. Could be fun.
So we follow his car down Pridham and Plymouth past the long Covid Testing queues.
Hello, I say, he’s pulled up outside your place. And he’s marching to the front door. Like he owns the place.
Saves you coming in, she says.
So I let her out and drive away in my little blue Subaru, scratching my cerebrals.