MY WIFE SAID SO

IT WAS RAINING

HER FACE FLOATED IN THE NIGHT

THE LINES WERE SHAKING

HER EYES WERE HOLES BIG AND BLACK

I HAVE TO DO THIS

GO OUT AND CLEAN THE CAR

CUT THE GRASS, GO TO WORK, GIMME MONEY

AND IT'S ALL TRUE, EVERY WORD THAT SHE SAID

YES, IT'S ALL TRUE AND I LAUGHED AS SHE BLED

AND SHE SHOULD KNOW – SHE ALWAYS DOES

IF IT'S SO IT'S CAUSE MY WIFE SAID SO

SHE WAS MOANING

AS I PULLED THE TRIGGER HARD

THE HOLE WAS MASSIVE

HER BRAIN BLASTED INTO SHARDS

THERE WAS SMOKE, THERE WAS NOISE

AND A SENSE OF TRANQUILLITY

BUT ALL THE WORDS, EVERY THING SHE SAID TO ME

KEPT POURING OUT LIKE BLOOD FROM HER VERBAL DISEASE

MISSING SCENE FROM AN URBAN LIFE

THE RED BUS SHAMBLED

TO AN UNKNOWN DESTINATION

WHERE YOU ALIGHTED

WAS QUITE UNIMPORTANT

BECAUSE WHAT EVERYONE COULD SEE

WAS THAT YOU WERE THERE.

A PUBLIC PICTURE

LIKE THE ADVERTS ON THE WALL.

FOR A TIME, A BEAT OF TIME

OUR GLANCES CAUGHT

TO BE HELD IN BRIEF PRECISION

FITTING VELVETEEN AS ONE

UNTIL ANOTHER SHORT TIME LATER

THE BUS HAD STOPPED AND I WAS GONE

I DIDN'T DO IT

HIS FINGERS, CHUBBY AND SMALL

MESHED WITH ONE ANOTHER NERVOUSLY

[EVEN THOUGH HE STILL DID NOT KNOW

THE MEANING OF THE WORD NERVOUS]

HIS MOTHER TOWERED ABOVE HIM

BY AT LEAST A HUNDRED FEET

HER CLOTHES AND STRANGE SHAPED BODY

A MYSTERY AS YET UNPERCEIVED.

WITHIN HER PAINTED HANDS

SHE HOLDS THE BATTERED DEAD.

“I KNOW YOU DID IT – I DON'T KNOW WHY

BUT YOU HAVE TO TELL ME… TELL THE TRUTH!”

BLOODIED FINGERS, BLOODIED NAILS

PAINTING MIDDLE AGED PICTURES IN THE AIR

“I DIDN'T DO IT – I DIDN'T DO IT!” HE FIERCELY SWEARS

AS SHE NODS AND LETS HIM GO – UNCOMPREHENDING.

THE SMALL BOY DRIFTS AWAY TO HIS SMALL WORLD

SINGING, DANCING, TALKING TO HIMSELF

“I DIDN'T DO IT, I DIDN'T DO IT!” HE HUMS AND THRUMS

BUT WHEN HE FINDS THE BLOODY KNIFE

…HE KNOWS HE DID.

ANOTHER VOICE, ANOTHER TIME

THE OLD MAN NODDED SLOWLY

“AND HOW ARE YOU, OLD MAN?”

MOCKS A SILENT, YOUTHFUL WHISPER

FROM THE DARKNESS, FAR BEHIND.

“I'M FINE!” THE OLD ONE MUTTERS

RUBBING WEATHERED SKIN AND GNARLED BONES,

“MUSTN'T GRUMBLE,” HIS BROKEN VOICE CRACKS

“…AND IF I DID – WHO WOULD LISTEN?”

ALTERNATIVE FREQUENCY

THE SENSATIONS WERE NEARLY THE SAME

THUMPING, GRINDING, FORCING PLEASURE.

AND IN THE DARK, DEVOID OF LIGHT

SHE COULD ALMOST BELIEVE THAT IT WAS…

BUT THAT WAS SO LONG AGO – NOT NOW

SO CLOSE AND YET SO FAR FROM THEN.

THE FAMILIAR REPETITION, THE SAME RESPONSES

ARE JUST LIKE SHE REMEMBERS – ALMOST.

THERE IS NO NEED FOR LIGHT TO MAKE THINGS CLEARER

BECAUSE WITHIN HER MIND SHE TRIES TO PULL A BLIND DOWN

…SHE DOES TRY TO PULL A BLIND DOWN

HELP ME, I THINK I'M DEAD

IT WAS DUSTY AND A THICK ATMOSPHERE LINGERED,

COBWEBS COVERED THE OLD TABLE AND CHAIR.

IT SEEMED AS THOUGH NO-ONE HAD BEEN HERE

SINCE TIME BEGAN… OR THIRTY YEARS AT LEAST.

HE KICKED AROUND THE OBJECTS IN THE HOUSE

THE THINGS WHICH ONCE WERE PART OF SOMEONE'S LIFE.

IT WAS STRANGE, THE WAY HE STOPPED AS IF POSSESSED

GAZING NUMBLY AT THE WRITING ON THE WALL

JUST ABOVE THE CLUMP OF MUSTY RAGS AND BONES

THAT MADE NO SENSE AND HAD NO USE.

THE PHOTOGRAPH TO THE LEFT HELD LONG ENOUGH

FOR THE IMAGE OF HER FLEETING BEAUTY TO BE SEEN

BEFORE IT TOO FELL TO DUST BY HIS FEET

AS THE WATCHER SHRUGGED WITH MILD DISTAIN.

THE WORDS WERE FADED AND HARD TO COMPREHEND

STATING ‘HELP ME, I THINK I'M DEAD…'.

IT MADE NO SENSE AND BORE NO WEIGHT

TO THE UNSEEING EYES, AS WATCHED BY FATE.

SO HE KICKED THE RAGS AND DRIFTED OFF

UNAWARE HE HAD FACED DEATH AND HEARD ITS TONE

WITHOUT UNDERSTANDING HOW LIFE CAN GO.

A FRIDAY AFTERNOON

THE OLD WOMAN SHOOK HER HEAD

CURLERS ALMOST DROPPING OFF

AND ASSAULTING THE OLD MAN,

HER PARTNER, COMPANION, HABIT.

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” SHE ASKED

THROWING HER EYES TO THE SKY

“YES” HE REPLIED TURNING BACK

TURNING BACK TO FACE HER.

HER EYES DIDN'T CONVINCE

WHAT HER MOUTH DID COMMAND

“WELLINEVERLOOKEDLIKE THAT – NOT IN MY DAY…

EXPOSED AND… AND ALL THAT” SHE SIGHED

“NO” THE OLD MAN AGREED, QUIETLY STOIC

BUT HIS MIND KNEW THAT SHE DID.

SOME FADING LIGHTS

HER FACE IS YOUNG, SHINING

AS ONLY BLAZING YOUTH CAN BE.

SO CONTENT AND LOCKED IN PASSION

HE AND SHE AS ONE.

AND WHERE DOES IT GO

WITH THE TICKING OF TIME?

GROWING OLDER WITH EACH NEW YEAR,

ALWAYS MOVING UNSTOPPABLY.

THAT WAS THEN AND THIS IS NOW

WITH ONLY PICTURES TO SAY WHAT HAS BEEN.

HIDDEN ON A SHELF BEHIND THE CLOCK

THE YESTERDAYS THAT NEVER STOPPED

TO SEE THE EYES AND FEEL THE SMILES

FROM FACES, VERY DIFFERENT NOW

FRESH, CLEAN, YOUNG AND WILD

TO SLOWLY CHANGE AS TIME FROWNS.

A RECORD OF TRANSIENT PERMANENCE

OF ALL THE THINGS… THAT NO LONGER EXIST.

AND AS THE PICTURES ARE REPLACED ONCE MORE

THERE'S A MOMENTARY FLASH OF ‘HOW I WISHED…'

LOST IN…

THE HAT WAS TARNISHED, THROWN FAR AWAY

HALF BURIED IN THE SHADOWS OF WHIRLING SAND.

THE BROKEN GUN WAS RUSTING SLIGHTLY

AND THE BEADS OF SWEAT MIXED WITH TEARS IN HIS EYES.

ALL THE DREAMS, THE ASPIRATIONS FOR

THIS JESUS CHRIST THIS MISTRESS SAVIOUR,

LIKE SHATTERED GLASS AT THE BOTTOM OF A POOL

AND STILL THE WIND, ALWAYS RISING

FOR ALL THE LOST – IN FAR OFF LANDS

FOR A DAY

AS THE WINDS OF TIME

BLOW YOUR HEART AWAY

AND THE RAIN FALLS LIKE JEWELS

ON YOUR EYES

IF YOUR HEART IS A SEA

IN WHICH MEN CAN DELVE

DON'T FORGET

HOW I DROWNED

FOR A DAY

AS I STAND ON THE BEACH

SCATTERED DEEP WITH DEBRIS

DON'T FORGET

HOW I WISH

FOR A DAY

DON'T FORGET

HOW I WISHED

FOR THAT DAY.