This is the last time that I saw the thing was when it was being manhandled by a karate expert from Calgary.
It was being given the chop!
Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
This is the last time that I saw the thing was when it was being manhandled by a karate expert from Calgary.
It was being given the chop!
The first time I saw her
I thought
She has been unlucky
She was the most beautiful girl in the clinic
The second time I saw her
I thought
She had been careless
The beautiful girl in the clinic
The third time I saw her
I thought
She was promiscuous or worse
That girl in the clap clinic.
She was the most beautiful girl in the clap clinic
The fourth time I saw her
I thought
Stupid me, she is a doctor.
I approached her then and said
Doctor
You are the most beautiful girl in the clap clinic.
She replied:
I'm not a doctor
I'm unlucky
I'm careless
I'm promiscuous
or worse.
But I feel that is about to change.
We left the clinic hand in hand
Separated by the thickness of a surgical glove.
Later, much later as we lay
Her head on my chest her hair in my face
the scent of hibiscrub filling the white room.
I said I love you
And she said don't love me
I am unlucky
I an careless
I am promiscuous
or worse
And nothing has changed.
As I looked into the skip a womans head popped up; a mass of glorious curls redolent of the fragrant nurse Caz.
Hello dad! She said. She rummaged in a sequinned evening bag then handed me an object wrapped in paper. It is 93 year old birthday cake she said.Last night I dreamt I was a child. It was a stormy autumn evening and I had been milking pomkin the goat who had lashed out at me with her hooves annd rendered me unconscious for a while.
Groggily I returned to the house and entered, but somehow I had gone in through the wrong door and found myself neither inside nor outside. there was a wall of raining teaspoons clouding my view of the walnut tree and of the three beakers on the window sill; my mothers red one, my dead fathers black one and my yellow one. Each time I reached out for my beaker (I was very thirsty) my hand was stung by the falling spoons.
I gave up in the end and finally fell asleep.
I awoke some time later on the straw in pomkins shed.
If it is possible for a goat to sneer, pomkin sneered.
Doctor F chuckled and clapped her hands on hearing the dream and seeing my painting and then ushered me out of the room giving me no explanation as to what it all might mean.
rusty came along shortly after the photo was taken and shot the thing with a Colt 48.
I said Rusty you can't do that and he said Jan, the constitution says I can do what I damn well please with my gun.
I said GULP.