I lied.
I didn't need filters.
I wanted a pint.

We swapped;
meanings
emotions
connections
and
words

Sliding Doors:
the what-could-have-been
replaced with the here-and-now

inter
connectivity
singularity
similarity
solution
ist
idealist
ic
pes­simist
ic
realist
ic
evolution
ary
ist
ic

In part
In truth

I wanted a pint;
there, I said it
plain and simple

Enter
the Other

Could've
Should've

being around strangers
I found my calm

You know
what I mean

just dose up
on more Amitriptyline
keep the Other at bay

just say,
i'm not home tonight

Thanks
for

You know

Being
You

the oil of the high grade pollen
coated in sticky honey-like crystals
old school wrap and a vaporizer
instills calm where there had been chaos
oh how the mighty have fallen

offers to go places
live music in an alleyway bar
cocktails till dawn
a rave under a motorway
the Sub Club for legendary libation
and mingle with familiar hazy faces

and yet,
he warms to the four walls of home
the symmetrical wooden rail border
the OCD driven picture placement
the videos in genre specific
alphabetical order

outside the city streets throng
stag-hen crews in costume
tourists off the beaten path
seeking the Water of Life
students drinking the bank of mum and dad dry
mid-week workers letting of class A steam
that for some is clearly too strong

the hordes
of bar ******
pimping their Versace
and Primark combo
any Glasgow bar
where looks could ****

bar telepathy
means he no longer
even has to speak
just have the fiber
to clear the bill

This he calls home.

What is about some people
insisting I want to engage
with whatever they are watching
singing along to
listening to

Example:

recently, on a long haul train
travelling from A to Z
in the rudimentary rammy
to find the unreserved seats
enter the 20-something
alluring guitar laden
leather and tattoo clad female
tumbling onto the next table to me
unpacking as if she was moving in

munchable fruit laptop
gleaming white
in clear conflict with
the dreads and the beads
pumped in patchouli oil
drenched in love and peace
armed with a dvd
that would shortly crush the spirits
of every soul in Coach D:
the Quiet Coach

enter screaming chipmunks
hysteric children
and songs to sing along to
which she did with obsessive precision

insisting that Coach D
should in some way be
enlightened
entertained
entranced
and ultimately impressed

such was her overbearing desire
to love thyself above all things
give the peace sign when appropriate
and otherwise don't give 2 F's
for anyone else, regardless of situation.

consumer behaviours were erratic at best
if the Jedi senses
were anything to go by

if i'd had a handheld vibe particle device
I could have created a pathological combustion
and an accelerated Coach D A-Bomb

heads turned
feet shuffled
zips unzipped and re-zipped
open hands holding Kindles
immersed in philanthropic discourse
turned to clenching fists
the sound of bent drink cans
rusted cogs in motion
deep breathing

even level 1 Tetris
became too much
for the bald fellow to my left
who accepted failure
and opted to purchase
a large brown bag of beer
from the bar

GOOD CALL

libation and the pagan ideals;
imbibe thyself to dull the senses

I concur
and,
in exchange for our classic colonial restraint
on behalf of Coach D
I wish upon you the following:

1. You will never again
drink a decent coffee from any vendor anywhere in the world, ever.

2. Your laptop will
turn off during any movie you sing along to, silent or otherwise.

3. Your guitar
strings snap during a performance in front of people you don't know who paid to get in.

4. Your Tattoo artist
has an epic fail and tattoo's a defamatory remark rather then your lovers name.

5. Your leather trousers
shrink wrap and make the sound of bursting bubble wrap every time you move.

6. Your comfortable shoes
attract bits of grit like a magnet, regardless what you are wearing.

7. Your waft of perfume
is likened to compressed 7 year old blue cheese that has sat in the sun for weeks.

8. Your location
at any time has a global no shoot-and-miss policy for all birds without exception.
(even the ones that don't fly)

9. Your singing
is so electric that every time you sing in public your hair stands on end
and cutlery sticks to your nose.

10. Your beer is always warm.
11. Your wine corked.
12. Your water salty.

13. That this poem goes viral on the internet
expressing one man's words which mirror the every day person
working their socks off to make a living
and in the hectic hustle and bustle
one of the sanctuaries is Coach D
on the way home from the City
and the frustration and restraint
of anti-social conduct
and basic respect.

14. That I will be on David Letterman
or the Late Late Show
or USA tonight
or the BBC prime time news
or some such over-hyped
TV show talking about you.

15. That you will thank me for making you a celebrity by default -
15.1 and subsequently appear on late night Z-list celebrity game shows involving boxes of spiders.

You are the worst Muse ever
in the history of Muses

16. and this is how you will be remembered

thick skin;
born from years
of frustration
exile
and failure

a diamond fella
they called him
a gentle man
by any other name
in my book

always with open arms
giving his time freely
helping people
was his vice
and ultimately
his undoing

understated in beige
camouflaged in denim
cloaked in 3-0-1 zips
sipping a beer
I've never even heard of

all the time I knew him
every time I saw him
sat on his own
or propping up the bar
he was playing Worms
the 2007 Edition
on a retro brick mobile

just to be around people
the social animal inside
drawn like a moth to the flame
the flickering glow
the background chatter
the clinking of glasses

the deluge of laughter
surfing the vibes of waves
drowned in the welcomed
cacophony of bar culture

he was everywhere
and nowhere
the man with no name
seemingly knowing everyone
but he always
sat alone

tonight my friend
someone
somewhere
is raising a glass
with your
name on it

in silent slumber
slowly awakens
wrapped in a cotton cocoon;
the sweet smells of sleep
seducing the senses

forget the sour notes
those bitter fruits
the disjointed limbs
the ***** that yawn
in the trickle of yesterday

laid to waste
burnt in the unforgiving ash;
a misplaced cigarette
and the wine rediscovered
hiding in the cupboard
which tasted of vinegar

savour the new day
the awakening
the red dawn

revel in the mystery girl
face-palm-plant
the lost chances
the razor sharp wit
lost in the sugar syrup
of many a Mojito;
the things I could've said,
I should've said

fumble
in the blur
another
Sunday morning;
the day after
the night before.

So....
you were tactile
when we first met
the showing
and, then,
seemingly
welcoming

But....
And....
(it was easy to beguile him)

I wanted something
You had something
we agreed with smiles
(nothing written down)
....
regret is but an emotion;
not a dribble of ink.
....
chasing shadows
springbok in season;
sharp claws
arched back;
pounce.
....
The Prey just rang the buzzer
(three chapters later....)
....
So you have to leave now -
Thanks for playing my game
I am not interested any more
I have had my enjoyment
(at your expense)
....
you can go now
....
Leave
more confused
....
than when you
Arrived
....
She purrs
>
Who is next?

Farewell Govan -
bathed in a baking sun
littered with betting shops
and no win/no fee criminal lawyers
and a myriad of pubs caked in years of libation
steeped in history of industry and shipbuilding
blackened smoked walls etched with gangland symbols:
tooled-up local carnivores who ride shotgun on a BMX
swapping discrete envelopes for indiscreet wads of cash.

Farewell Govan -
you fractured my ribs once in a moment of mistaken identity
I didn't heed the advice to not walk through the park at night
I didn't hear the pitter-patter of adolescent feet
speeding my way in brand new trainers across the grass
but I did feel the clunk of something solid on my head
as the ground rushed up to meet me in a concrete embrace
and watched as 4 bags of overladen shopping spewed out
lying face up spread-eagle in Lilliput fashion
and a mobile torch-app in my face with the repeating words
“Ima tellin’ you man its naw him, its naw him”
I reassured them frantically that I was definitely not him!
as the hooded troupe picked up what was left of my shopping
and even gifted me a couple of cans of super strength lager,
a cube of dubious council estate hash
and an usher to leave immediately
(and think myself lucky).

Farewell Govan -
you got me blazing on cheap beer at the local pub
which had recreated a holiday beach scene
with a hand-written sign that read: Better than Ibiza!
awash with carefree children
and pit-bull terriers wearing bespoke Barbour dog jackets
and brand spanking new Adidas white trainers
purchased from Tam out of a nondescript blue plastic bag
who always passes the day's pleasantries
while topping up his pension
chatting with auld Billy who was in the war (don’t you know)
via the Merchant Navy
and the version of how he was gunner on an oil boat in Vietnam
via the umpteenth pint that afternoon.

Farewell Govan -
your late night shadows harbour an underlying tension
masked with comic humour only if you can understand the lingo
words that are distasteful anywhere else are in fact a term of endearment here
I shall miss the odious vernacular and doth my cap to your spirit
the Salt of the Earth and the Lifeblood of the Community
with at least 40% proof liquids mixed with Irn Bru
purchased at the 24/7 corner store along with a can of processed peas;
one of your five a day.

Farewell Govan -
I go to the sunny side of the Clyde
where it rains just as much
but you don’t get mugged for carrying an umbrella
or asked for the time from a watch-wearing tattooed sailor
and joy-of-joys there will be actual fruit & veg shops
where I don’t have to explain what fresh coriander is
and what you use it for, other than on a pizza;
I was offered dried bottled parsley instead.

Farewell Govan.