They make life easy,
But also sometimes hard,
You get dealt with them
However hard
you try and play
Your cards.

They are granite in your
Foundation stone but strapped
with a coat of semtex,
They’ll pick away until there is
Nothing left but build you back
When you need it most,
They are your coffee in the morning
A special supper when you come home
But that empty feeing when it’s all gone.
Family bring you in,
A vortex of love and gravity
Enmassing in a bright
cosmic cotten candy swirl
engulfing sadness and starvation,
like the vacuum of space.

They are your universe
because no matter where you
are.
Someone wants to know you’re OK.

A walk is
What we really need.
Let’s go to Exmouth,
The population of
Exeter thought
In frightening
Unison.

Don’t give me Deck the Halls,

Or you’ll lose possession of your bauballs.

because I’m dreaming of a white Christmas

Just like the ones we’ve never actually had.

Hark the herald angel sing,
What is that awful din?  Oh it’s a choir.
Where’s my M-16.

Jingle bells, jingle bells.
Last time I jingled bells,
I was arrested.

The first Noel, the angels did say
This fantastic sale will start
on Christmas Day, don’t be late.

Silent night, holy night,
It’s not silent because the neighbours
Are having a pretentious Christmas
party. And they’re singing Karaoke.

Badly.
I have ran out of ammunition, there
were too many Choristers.

They called him ‘Facebook Jim’
Because if you added him,
He’d add you back.
No matter who you were.
Even if you were sane,
Or even slightly disturbed.
He’d add people from Africa,
Asia and even South America
But one day he added
A pirate.
Called Barry.
Who was
Going up in the world and
Bought a PC.

Had found that looting ships
Was not as profitable.
So he got online and looked
for fellow pirates online who
could possibly offer some
advice. He added himself
to Facebook, using the
Pirate language setting

After a trip to the pirate library,
and a quick search on the pirate
OPAC (Online Public ARRcccess Catalogue)
He found a book called
“How to steal identities and
Become wealthy”.

Lesson One.
“Steal a lubbers identity by
Siphoning off important information
On facebook.” Raid it like a bark,
of scurvy redcoats and reap the benefits.

Within a few months,
Pirate Barry was making a nice
Living siphoning information and
Applying for loans. He didn’t miss
The sea but did miss getting
his victims to walk the plank.

Pirate Barry was getting
quite good at this and it wasn’t
a lot of time before he added
Facebook Jim.

A month later Jim got a courtesy
Call from a Loan company ran by
Sharks. A small operation staffed
Entirely by Great White’s and a
small Hammer Head called Steve.
The call was frightening, not because
Steve hasn’t got many people skills,
But because when a hammer head
rings you and threatens to eat you
if you don’t repay the loan in full
You tend to worry.

The next day, Jim’s door was knocked on
by Steve.

Steve wrote later that he was tender,
but not as nice as that old lady he ate
two days earlier.
Pirate Barry wrote back to Steve and announced
he was leaving piracy to become a
Mountain Goat breeder.

My aim, when spitting
That mouth mixed minty

Broth, concocted each
time teeth are scrubbed
has been perfected after
My grandmother, told
me off for missing the plug
And not rinsing the sink.
Now, I can aim a jet of water
Like a vegas fountain with
Accuracy that’d make her
Proud.

Mirror like, staring at the lens
is a face from the otherside.
First photo of the source of
Those long strings of beautiful
Sentences.  Caring words from
A disembodied body on the
Other side of the world.

You are nothing like what I
Thought.  You’re fat.
But then it’s a camera, that’s
What it does.  Fattens your
White porcelain face.

The person who chatted to
Me at three AM is now
Personified in a photo,
A couple of years old.  Your hair
Is slightly darker now, after all
You’re at college and you’ve
grown up.
But you’re still a madam.

We should meet up sometime
I say, trying to stoke cinders.
But you pull down your
Metaphoric pants, and
Metaphorically pee over
crude attempts to see you
And get laid.

I’m not ready, I’m shy,
I’m busy, I have coursework
I’m visiting a range of
Fictitious relatives. I’m
Washing my hair. Twice.
It’s too far, it’s too expensive
I hate trains, I can still
See you without meeting you.
I’m holding your strings.
I’m in control.

I wonder if your
Boyfried knows,
After all, Facebook
is readable by everyone.

Julio, pronounced ‘Hoolio’

Is slouched at the only table seat
In this fluorescent catacomb.

Now and again he takes a
Phone Call. With great statement
He reels off his matinee,
Directing darlings, just some
Actors learning scripts.
Loudly he strokes a kempt
Designer beard as his jawline
Rests quietly on an ego
Three metres diameter.

His pseudo self, strutted
And popped off dagger shot
Eye-glares at people, witnessing
The freak show in his tiny
Bit-piece First Great Western
Theatre.  Phone a microphone,
Life is one great play.

A field, on a Sunday morning.

Fried egg smells, eminating
From the snack wagons dotted
About. Our Sunday service,

My dialogue with God, replaced
With mindless bartering over
Cardboard coffee cups.

This field, a karma junction,
Items with stained energy,
Passing over, under the
Hymns of the car boot,
Items of communion,
Approach plaster table
altars. Make your Offer.
And say your creed.

the waiting room
hygienic with a TV
humming cushy
kids programs to those with
no soul.
thumb worn magazines
littered the only table,
saturating the pine
vaneer with turned
corners and faded bent
gloss covers.  An unatural
smiling woman stares
at the faces of those
who will die before
she develops wrinkles,
thanks to Oil of Ulay.

The few that sit there
either make nervous
conversation, dancing
anecdotes of offspring
successes and in-laws
failings through the
air. broadcasters to the
apathetic.
fellow waiters
forecast the weather for
the weekend and
hope.

Nurses appear and
dissappear through
countless doors, a run
of consultation rooms.
Ovens of emotion, fear
can roast the roof
of the mouth in these
cubicles where
Consultants stoke
bad news and
good news. Emotion
fuelled by test results
examinations of
itching lumps and
CT scans.

“This disease will shorten
your life”, a kind way
of eliminating the hope
of pensions and
grandchildren.

Moving the condemned
to a special room with
a comfortable chair.
Cheap tissues
and a water
colour print in a room
where no one lives.

Navy blue nurses
talk about
chemotherapy,
canulars and
hand out sickly
sweet information
photocopied by
a healthy
pregnant secretary.
she is scared like
the rest of us.

The car park is now
An expansive desert
of tarmac.  The silence
Sheer and cliff like.

Ring boxed, we walk
Hand in hand.
A silent procession
as our minds replay
a unison chourus

of what we had just
heard.

As we open the car

we are flying on a mix of petrol

and adrenaline.

We hit the canyon floor
passing the offices of
South West Water.
I grieved for
our dreams.

What he didn’t say
Was where he was
Going.  What he
Did say was that
He didn’t care if
He lived or died.
I wish running
Away was only
Something that
Children tried to
do.
Adults apparently
Do the same.