I am going to bed with Mrs. Crasthorpe.
I have been to bed with her before.
It was a most pleasant experience.
Her husband is dead. She is a free woman now.
She is fit and feisty and when she’s breathed in the briny air of Eastbourne, she loosens up and tells me.
She has generously full lips. blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and is the ripe old age of 59.
Nothing unseemly passes between us, however.
Sadly she is an invention of William Trevor.
I remember the poem Beth wrote
about the 31 cents
from Hillman Bailey 111’s open desk
in primary school
and how she made up for it
over half a lifetime later
by leaving change —31c — at the checkout
for the next person to have who might have had a child
who wanted candy
and I thought , yes!!!
that is what I will do with the $250
a children’s literary magzine owes me
for the reprint of four poems
from the early 2000’s.
i can’t be bothered filling out all the forms
so I told them to donate it to a charity
so it goes back into the universe
where my poems came from anyway
Look at him now
bug-eyed with happiness
evergreen with the springtime
Remember him bleached & wilting
on that park bench by the bull-rushes?
Well, look who just turned up.
His life is on an upswing.
Whoopee, he says,
as he goes higher and higher,
his love looking on.
A new driver
took over his bus
knew how to swing
Sure, he still liked
but he doesn’t touch
Not any more.
on Jesus now
And look how she
leans into him
as if she really belongs.
And perhaps this time
she really does.
- pic courtesy of pinterest by mugichan
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
Start with the animals, Buddha once said.
So I do.
The cat wants to go out. It is badgering me to let it out in the balmy evening where all sorts of adventure await.
But I want it to stay inside, settle down like me.
It is so easy to be mean.
I open the door.
I must open my heart a little more as well.
My girl and I sometimes send unpleasant texts to each other. It is what couples who are not quite couples do.
I think the meanness in my texts should be let out too.
I open the door. It dithers.
I give it a swift kick up the backside and send it on its way.
I begin my text message anew.
She’s not coming, mate.
Sure she is. If not today, then tomorrow.
Your flowers are beginning to wilt.
I can get new ones.
There’s a party under the bridge tonight. You coming?
You go. Have a good time. I’ll be here. You never know, she might ….
Nah, mate. She won’t. Don’t wilt, you hear. Just don’t wilt.
Why do people I hang out with
all have perfect marriages?
No fall outs.
Just Bill & Coo.
Sweethearts of the Rodeo.
Never a false step.
Never foot in the mouth.
How do they do it?
I always laughed at cartoons
was astonished before paintings & poems
but now I pass the magazine to you,
the one with the crazy cartoons.
Look at this, I say, & you do and smiles
span our faces & rumble our bellies
like little laughing Buddhas;
Trouble shared is trouble halved,
my mother used to say — but Joy
It is doubled when shared with another.
*pic courtesy of Pinterest by John Currin