Junkie
For J.M
Did you think of soil-brown nails and gaunt
vacuous eyes when you read "that" word?
Could you hear bed-sheets draped from glass-less
windows arguing with the wind? Was you not furious
when three of them set an obstacle-course of limbs
and penny empty coffee cups outside the station.
You were off to work, right? Up late, and tired,
and there they were, solar-soaking the sun,
turning you off your Cornish-butter Croissant.
'Lay-about-self pitying- skid marks of Society'.
Isn't that what you said? Well this one’s for you J.M.
Read it tonight while you swig your "stress reliever"
in the garden shed where you pretend to pot spring
seed's as the wife struggles with the chalky
bitterness of a little white pill, to feel life's pang
temporarily reside, while scanning the internet
looking for reasons why your son loves cock.
Stark, impacting, dripping with bile and venom - ouch! J.M has a lot to answer for. Realism at its finest.
holy crap mon!
holy crap mon!
impact, definitely.