Breathe Again

My dog takes a crap in the doorway of one of those new blocks of flats,

that have spread through our suburb like the AIDs virus

spread through the community of men who like to have sex with men

way back there in the 1980s, as this chick comes out the doorway, 

and she turns and purses her lips, and I think puts her hands on her hips,

or did she point, with her nose hoisted into the air as if attached to a crane,

and says, “Do you mind cleaning that up, as it’s right in the doorway?”

She didn’t say that in a polite way, no she did not,

– as if there is a polite way to say clean up your shit – 

but in a demanding, the world revolves around her kind of way.

And I am, actually, standing there trying to open the pooh bag with my fingers,

I am struggling to separate the two layers of green biodegradable plastic,

and, Huh, bitch? What you say? Goes through my head, as I look at her,

and my lips start to form those very words to say to her, as I gaze at her rat face.

But I stop myself because I have learned that, perhaps, a filter is best,

when dealing with the very clearly entitled, it is all about me, types.

And I mumble something like, “Of course, I am going to do that.”

And I stop myself from telling her to proceed with her day and not to worry about me,

in two words that I think are very clearly able to convey my meaning succinctly.

And I think - even though I think that cleaning up dog shit, 

which is perfectly organic and biodegradable without us sliding it into a specially design baggie, is stupid - it was probably started by people like her, whose sphincter is the same shape as those pursed lips that are now pointed at me. Has she had them plumped, I think, could they be naturally that shape? 

I do clean it up every time as that is what the world wants me to do.

And I don’t need the embodiment of that nightmare that is people like her,

standing and practically clicking their fingers and demanding it of me, so

I simply smile, and I think my face is betraying me, but it is probably best,

just as those two layers of recalcitrant green plastic separate between my fingers, and I look down, and I complete the job at hand, as though I wasn’t interrupted by anyone. And when I look up again she has gone, and I am pleased. I stop mumbling under my breath. And I start to breathe again.

Boys & Girls

Girls are, perfume, soft hair. and friends. 

Boys are, performance art, physically equal mates

Girls are, matters of the heart

Boys are arm wrestles and farts

Girls are rub around your leg cats

Boys are sniff your arse dogs,

Girls are chiffon cake with forks,

Boys are beer and nuts dropped on the floor

Girls are, kale and spritz

Boys are punch in the arm hitz

Girls are sisters and friends

Boys are arseholes and cocks.

Girls smell like roses and talc

Boys smell like used shaver stubble and cigarettes.

Girls are sugar and spice

Boys are snails and puppy dog's tails.

Girls are sticklers for consent

Boys are do whatever you want

Girls you have to take your time to fulfil their needs

Boys are do it to you in the street

Long walks after dark,

 Play footy in the park,

 Hold conversations,

 Tell tall stories,

 make logical sense,

 Drink until you want to fuck,

 talk until you feel safe

 walk away after, no regrets

 call up and reassure.

 Make a mess.

Leave confused

Don't look back.

Paradox

The deplorables are agitating

in their baskets, for their political heroes,

who’s care for them amounts to zero.

Fooled into being aspirational,

by all this talk that is inclusive,

but they don’t even seem to notice,

when the jobs and pay rises are elusive.

They never seem to be raised out of mediocrity,

but they go on rooting exclusively,

for conservatives that don’t give them a whit.

Tears In My Eyes

Honesty

brings tears to my eyes,

no matter how it is delivered.

Janis singing about Bobby McGee,

or a Vietnam vet saying 

the blues queen was the only reason

he made it through.

Sometimes

Sometimes, all we want is someone to look in our direction, nothing more, nothing less.

Just a friendly face, and a little acknowledgment.

Heaven sent.

(If there was a heaven, of course)

Something real,

A smile, a look, that look,

Sometimes, that is all we want.

Heaven.

(said in the gay way, and not the Jesusy way)

As in ‘died and gone to’, clutch my throat.

Not believe in me and only me, cross thy self. (Read the rules)

Something to believe in,

Love.

Someone to believe in,
You.

Take my hand,

Your touch is warm and smooth,

And you haven’t let go.

Baby Got Big Arse

God, you’ve got a big arse, baby.

What would that feel like spread across my face?

In the saddle like a cowboy, giddyup! Ride ‘em home.

While I get in touch with your inner zone.

I feel you quiver, I feel you squirm

at the thought, does your stomach churn?

I laugh, (how brazen am I?) I feel it in my face,

I pick up the pace.

To the end, it is a race.

You and me.

Some Days

Some days,

it just feels like I am all the way along the road, 

and when I look forward there isn't so much further to go, 

and when I look back it seems such a long way that I have come, 

but it has all gone, and so much of it doesn't even exist anymore 

and it only took such a very short time to get here.

 

Life

Ephemeral,

my fingertips slip from yours.

Alone in the end.

Ultimate irony,

racists have the blackest hearts.

The blind cannot see.

I Can Only Assume Tearing Other People Down Makes Them Feel Better About Their Lives

Racists wearing their badge of

ignorance with pride, you can almost see

the stupidity in their eyes, when they repeat

the clichés passed down from one generation

to the next, like they actually mean something,

I can only guess, making them feel superior,

for the only moment in their lives that they do.

Spider

There’s a spider who lives in my toilet,

behind the toilet brush in the corner,

far enough away from the handle

for me not to grab him. I look at him

when I have a pee. He looks at me

from his web up the side of the door frame.

We live in peace together, he’s got his

life, I’ve got mine. He’s lovely, shiny brown,

I’d miss him if he was not around.

I Don’t Understand Conservatives

Left wing

Angel wing

Right wing

Chicken wing

This wing

My wing

That wing

Ring a ding

Let’s all sing

Clap your symbols

Ching Ching

Kumbaya, la la,

As the right wing

Tears itself apart

Over the latest thing

‘cause we can’t have that

As it’s a sin,

If we change things

Where do we begin.

It is too dangerous

A thing,

A slippery slope

Down which we’ll all could slip

Zing.

Twelve Steps

I go for a walk, early.

It is a sunny, crisp, morning.

I can see him coming from across the road,

the wide eyes of the deluded

are easy to recognise.

Then on queue, twitchin’

talkin’ at me, rat-a-tat

“I saw you in church brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“I saw you in church, brother.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“Do you pray in church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you pray in church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Don’t you go to church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t go to church, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in Jesus, brother.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you want Jesus in your life, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in God, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“Do you believe in God, brother?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t believe in God, brother?”

“No,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Don’t waste your time,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Please don’t,” I say.

“You don’t want me to pray for you?”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

“You don’t want me to pray for you?”

“No,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’ll pray for you, brother?”

“It means nothing to me,” I say.

“I’ll pray for you, brother.”

“Suit yourself,” I say.

There, I say it

He gets what he wants

And is gone.

It Is All Frightening

We’re all terrified by life,

some of us are lifted up by it,

some of us are squashed down by it,

and some of us are just better

at pretending.

But it is all frightening,

for all of us.

Time Machine

Take me there

The coordinates are burnt on my heart,

Take me back

Let me dream of that,

Take the time machine

To let us love again

Let the emptiness wane

Death isn’t sane

Its hold your breath

Feel the pain,

But nothing else.

I picture your face

As you fade

The sound of your voice

Disappears from my brain,

But if I try to think anything else

It is a vacuum,

The air sucked out

And I’m left with nothing

Empty hands,

And an ache

That nothing will erase.

A time machine

For space

If only we could talk 

Just once more.

One more time.

I’ll tell you everything 

I’ve thought of,

I’ve got many questions, 

I’ll write them down.

Live Your Life

While you live,

Laugh.

While you sing,

Smile.

While you dance,

Be free.

While you love,

Be true.

Someone Who Knows You

Life is always better when you’ve got someone to sing to,

someone looking back at you who knows you,

because if you don’t have those friendly eyes,

what would be the point of life?

Virus

21st Century Blues

Every year 

We drift further away

From Aladin Sane

Who was topped

By something as prosaic

As infinitely repeating cells

And now we face down

A virus that is going 

to take us to hell,

The end of the world as we know it

Check your circuits, 

there's something wrong

Wash your hands

And don’t touch your face

We’ve come this far

There’s no going back.