Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."

My Mom needed something from the store
So I told her I’d walk up there for her and get it.
We were barely getting by
The two of us.
She was living on a disability check
And I was in between jobs
Again
So these little walks to the store were all I had.
I got her some Epsom salts and was walking back
Had just walked past the hardware store
When a small, sleek, black, BMW pulled up next to me.
To my surprise it was a chick
A big titted redhead with pink sunglasses.
There was something in her eyes
When she peeked below the sunglasses
I saw something in them
that frightened me
A voice inside was screaming at me
Just keep walking
Just keep walking
But like a fool
I ignored it
And bent over the passenger seat
In the convertible that smelled new.
“How big is your ****?”
The lady asked
Her chest just heaving and jiggling
With every breath she took
And every word she spoke.
“What?”
“I said….how big is your ****?”
“Ha ha!”
I took a look around
Expecting to see a hidden camera
Or a film crew in a van across the street.
There was no one
No witnesses.
I leaned back down
“7 inches? Maybe 8? I don’t know lady, I haven’t measured my **** since the 11th grade!”
The redhead took off the sunglasses completely and looked me up and down
Those bright green eyes scanning me
From my worn out Converse to my greasy pompadour on my head.
It seemed like an eternity
I got uncomfortable.
Just standing there
Squirming
While the redheaded fox
Kept inspecting me.
“Okay. Get in. Hurry up.”
I wasn’t even thinking
Just reacting to it all.
I’d always dreamed of this
When I was walking down that
Same old ******* street
The only street that I ever saw
Dreaming of
A beautiful woman in a sports car.
And now here she was.
Here we were
Driving down the street
The breeze blowing in our hair
She made an immediate right turn
Onto a suburban side street.
She parked in front of a house that was up for sale.
Again she took off the sunglasses.
“Let me see it.”
She said, staring at my crotch.
“Whoa, whoa, lady. What’s this all about?”
“My husband and I…..we have certain…..tastes. Things we like, things we enjoy. He’s an older guy, so he likes to watch young guys **** me. I mean, just really give it to me good, make me scream. And of course after your services have been….rendered….you’ll be paid two-thousand dollars. Now do you think you can do that?”
“Uh……I—I think so.”
“Well, I need you to know so. And if you were bullshitting me, if that **** isn’t at least 7 inches, you can get out of the car right ******* now.”
“No it is, it is.”
“Well...”
“Well...you gotta start my engine first—“
Before I could finish my cheesy line
She was in the passenger seat
Climbing on top of me.
“Rip it open” She said looking down.
I did as I was told
And ripped the front of her blouse open
The buttons flying in all directions
Bouncing off the windows and rolling on the dashboard.
Her two, round, fake, **** sprang out of the top
Hitting me in the face
As she rubbed them up and down
And all around.
She kissed me sloppily
And then started in with that biting *******.
She met my lip so hard
It drew blood
acting purely on reflex
I grabbed her by the arms very hard
And pulled her back from me
Staring at her with those crazy, intense, eyes
That I sometimes got when startled.
“Oh…..” She said looking down, at the ******* in my Levi’s.
“Alright. You wanna see the house?” She asked.
I let go of her arms and she rolled off of me,
hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the car up.

She drove all the way to the edge of the city
Where the Red Mountains in the east
Meets the long winding road out of town
And into the desert.
It was a large ranch style mansion
Decorated with cowboy themed ****.
The redhead parked the sports car in
A massive garage
Filled with dozen of rare and expensive automobiles .
She told me to leave my plastic grocery bag of Epsom salts
In the car
She said I could get it later, when we were done.
I followed her to an elevator at the back of the garage.
We took it all the way down to the very bottom.
Stepping out of the elevator
I found myself in a large expansive grey room.
The floors were concrete
But they were shiny and slick
Reminded me of the floor in the meat department
At the job I had just lost.
The room had a few beds in it
Some custom built sets were erected all over the room
An office, a jail cell, a medieval dungeon, a medical examination room,
There were a lot these little sets built all over
In the back of the room
The corners
Were pitch black and covered in darkness.
I wondered what they had over there.
“So what do we do?” I asked, fidgeting in my pants
thumbing my switchblade stiletto in my right front pocket.
“We have to wait for my husband to come down. I just texted him.”
“Oh okay.”
“You should take your clothes off and put this on.”
The redhead said, taking a hospital gown from a hanger
Next to the medical examination set.
“….put that on and I’m gonna go get into character.”
She said, walking behind a white privacy screen
The old kind, like they used to have in doctor’s offices.
I undressed myself and got into the hospital gown.
I can’t say what it was exactly
But I still had that real nervous feeling
I couldn’t ignore it
So for some reason
I hid my switchblade on me.
Put it in the waistband of my underwear.
And that made me feel a little bit safer
This whole thing was beyond belief
I was never this lucky
Something was rotten in Denmark
I could feel it in my bones.
But there was no backing out now
I was riding this all the way
No choice.
I took a seat on the medical examination table
The thin paper crunching loudly beneath my ***
They had it down to the finest detail.
Even the little slots with the Highlights magazines.
I watched the black & white clock on the wall
And it took them 28 minutes to finally come out
The two of them together.
The tall, beautiful, redhead and the rich old man.
But they matched in an odd way
His face was nearly the same color as her hair.
A red faced, big nosed, drinker,
I’ve seen that face a thousand times
Ain’t no mistakin’ it.
He had white hair all spiked up
Like how young people have it
And he wore nothing but gold
All over himself.
Gold necklace, full fists of rings, bracelets,
I couldn’t ******* believe it
I tried my best not to laugh
I was snorting to myself
The ******* had a Mercedes medallion around his neck
Like Flavor Flav or something, it was that flamboyant.
But the guy was like 70 years old
None of it made any ******* sense.
The florescent lighting above
it did this thing where
his eyes were so sunken in
that it created these two black shadows
where his eyes should’ve been
just pitch black
endlessly hollow and empty
with a red face.
Satan himself, covered in gold and diamonds.

“What’s up?” He said, extending his well tanned, leathery claw.
“Hey.”
“Alright, so let’s not waste any time. Let’s get down to business? Huh?”
“Yeah, sure.” I said.
“**** yeah! Let’s ****! You wanna **** him baby?”
”Why do you think I got him? Hell, I almost ****** him on the way home.”
“Did you now?” He said, looking over at me with this look
I couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or rage.
“Alright, alright then.”
The chick started to walk up the three little steps
Of the examination table
Her feet were pale as snow and her toes
Shiny and red like a the paint job on a brand new Cadillac in 1956
I remember that.
She climbed on top of me
Started kissing me and
Rubbing my ****
Under the examination gown.
From the corner of my eye
I saw the husband moving over to the camera
Which was setup a few feet away
Looked to be hi-def ****.
She bit my lip again
Really ******* hard
Pulled a big chunk of skin off
“*******!” I yelled.
“What?” The husband shouted back.
“He hates it when I bite him!” The redhead shouted with a smile
blood on her lips, from mine.
“Well, don’t take any **** son! If she does that again, you just give her a good smack!”
“What?”
“Yeah, don’t be timid boy! This ain’t ******’ Sunday school! We’re ******’, here!”
She did it again
And I wasn’t even thinking of what that old coot was yelling about
I just hit her on principle.
A good open handed smack across the cheek.
“There ya ******’ go! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
The old man threw his hands in the air
And started doing this little dance it was the weirdest ****
I had ever seen.
The redhead grabbed my face with her hands
Taking my eyes off the old man
Who was now singing some song
And shuffling around the floor.
She looked right into my eyes
Those mint colored eyes
She whispered to me
But I read her lips
“I’m sorry.”
And she pulled me in and kissed me
Put my hands to her *******
And proceeded to kiss me
Like a long lost love
Not some guy off the street.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
Besides the ***** of the needle in my neck.
Just her red hair hanging in my face
The florescent light shining through.
When I came to
I was standing upright
But I was strapped to a table
My arms
My legs
My head
Every part of me strapped down
Tight.
I wasn’t going anywhere
This was that bad feeling I got when she looked at me.
This was where it ended. Right now.
They were both standing there
Staring at me
Smiling with drinks in their hands
The cameras rolling
They had multiple cameras setup
Some 80’s techno playing from an iPod dock.
“What? What are you gonna do?” I slurred, it was hard to talk.
“I know, I’m sorry. Okay, look. We both agree that you probably are owed an explanation, I mean….these being your last moments and all…”
The redhead interrupted, looking at me, like she had before
There was love in her eyes
“Honey…remember what I said? About how there are things that we like and things that we enjoy? I’m sorry, but this is what we like.”
“*****?” I managed to choke out,
just the sound of the words chilled my ******* blood.
“Yeah. Hey…son, let me tell ya…we’re actually saving you a whole lot of heartache and disappointment. You weren’t gonna go anywhere, you weren’t going to accomplish anything. You’d work the same **** jobs, bouncing from one to the other, until you finally died of either ***** or drugs.”
“It’s for the best, sweetie.” The redhead said.
And I’d love to tell you that
They left the room for a few minutes
And I was able to free my hand
Taking the switchblade
From my underwear
Cutting myself free
Killing them both
And cleaning out their safe’s cash and diamonds.
But this was no movie.
Well not the kind with a happy ending anyway.
That’s when she walked over to the table
And grabbed the knife.
The song on the iPod changed
And I instantly recognized it.
It was the song.
I never could explain why
But as a boy
This song would come on the radio
This 80’s electro song
And it always scared the **** out of me
Turned my stomach
I never knew why
But now it all made sense.
That song would be the last thing I ever heard.
With the cameras rolling
The redhead gave me one more kiss.
I closed my eyes and pretended.
I pretended that she was a girl that loved me
That she was kissing me goodnight
Sending me off with a smile.
I just kept my eyes closed
Squeezing them tight
And I didn’t even feel the knife
When she slit my throat right there
In that slick, shiny, grey basement.
It didn’t hurt
I didn’t feel any pain.
Just warmth.
The blood flowing down the front of my neck and chest
pure warmth sliding down me
And I started to get light headed
Everything getting dark
Very quickly.
I could hear my heartbeat
In sync with a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
The last thing I saw
Was the redhead standing there
Luckily the husband had his head behind the camera
So I didn’t have his scary face as the last thing I ever saw.
No
It was the redhead
And those mint green eyes.
They never found my body.
The couple put me through a wood chipper
And fed my scraps to their dogs
After slicing off my biceps for dinner that night.
They went on doing this for years
Picking up guys and girls from the streets
who were down on their luck
And wouldn’t be high profile missing persons.
They acquired hundreds of DVD’s
Selling these ***** films
To their elite and powerful
Friends in high places.
But they justified it all.
Surely I wouldn’t be missed.
I didn’t have a mother
Like they had a mother
I didn’t laugh and love
Like they did
I was expendable
Disposable
Use once and discard.
The rich eating the poor
Blood meal for their insatiable & gruesome appetites.
It’s okay though.
I’m not mad or anything now.
It’s just blackness
A dreamless sleep
I don’t even know how I’m telling you this
But the worst part
The thing I still think about the most
Is my mother.
And what she must of thought
When her only son
Went to the store for her
Epsom salts
And just never came back.

The older I get
The crazier I get.
I like the word crazy
Because I'm a crazy old coot.

'O babbling brook,' says Edmund in his rhyme,
'Whence come you?' and the brook, why not? replies.

    I come from haunts of coot and hern,
    I make a sudden sally,
    And sparkle out among the fern,
    To bicker down a valley.

    By thirty hills I hurry down,
    Or slip between the ridges,
    By twenty thorps, a little town,
    And half a hundred bridges.

    Till last by Philip's farm I flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on for ever.

'Poor lad, he died at Florence, quite worn out,
Travelling to Naples. There is Darnley bridge,
It has more ivy; there the river; and there
Stands Philip's farm where brook and river meet.

    I chatter over stony ways,
    In little sharps and trebles,
    I bubble into eddying bays,
    I babble on the pebbles.

    With many a curve my banks I fret
    By many a field and fallow,
    And many a fairy foreland set
    With willow-**** and mallow.

    I chatter, chatter, as I flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on for ever.

'But Philip chatter'd more than brook or bird;
Old Philip; all about the fields you caught
His weary daylong chirping, like the dry
High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass. [grig = cricket - m.]

    I wind about, and in and out,
    With here a blossom sailing,
    And here and there a ***** trout,
    And here and there a grayling,

    And here and there a foamy flake
    Upon me, as I travel
    With many a silvery waterbreak
    Above the golden gravel,

    And draw them all along, and flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on for ever.

Haunched like a faun, he hooed
From grove of moon-glint and fen-frost
Until all owls in the twigged forest
Flapped black to look and brood
On the call this man made.

No sound but a drunken coot
Lurching home along river bank.
Stars hung water-sunk, so a rank
Of double star-eyes lit
Boughs where those owls sat.

An arena of yellow eyes
Watched the changing shape he cut,
Saw hoof harden from foot, saw sprout
Goat-horns.  Marked how god rose
And galloped woodward in that guise.

I look at Sil and start to SCREAM and yell and yammer excitedly with this new idea bursting forth -  Let’s go to Sunday mass hungover, or maybe still drunk. Maybe we can puke in the pews or confess our sins to the pederast priest! Sil, always an easy read, agreed instantly so we left the watering hole in the wall, brimming with stalwart stoic sin and soaking in ***, gin and ugh…pheromones.

“fadder I puked in yer pews. How many hail Marys is dat?”

“fadder I smoked a joint in the rectory.”

“fadder I occasionally sleeps wit men.” I cry,

We see his previously shock beet red face light up.

“Wit MEN fadder wit men.  Not little boys”

Disappointed pederast priest preaching piously about the sins of drugs and alcohol and *** and ****** and y’know, pretty much everything fun ever.

“fadder I sold me mudders dentures for new headshots.”

“fadder I was in a ****” et cetera. After the pederast has a coronary we’ll steal the communion wine and dance on the church *****. You can play a sweet soft soothing melody accompanied soliloquy or Debussy’s Claire de Lune. We’ll remember better days when he could still play and cry red tears, ****** drunk. Stuck in our respective funk ruts our calls to the coronary catholic become more somber.

“fadder I’m afraid. I’m afraid of dying…I’m afraid of living.”

Rolling around on the confession booth floor now,

“fadder I want to die, fadder I tried to **** myself”

Sil shows strong salient scalpel scars that we both still remember suturing shut.

“fadder I should be in the Waterford In-patient wing”

By now we’ve revived the poor old Father…As it happens he’s a rowdy red whiskey noser. Sil’s feeling good, rambunctious and reeling secretly seething I believe.

“So fadder explain to me why it’s a sin to love another man but every other ******* week some ******’ pillar of the community cops for kiddie ****?!” His ire is up, red cheeked wide eyed boiling over.

The priest is mute silent on the subject at first, finally looking up from a leather bound book, he starts to speak in careful, measured words unfamiliar to the impatience of our generation.

“My son, I’ve never ****** any boys, nor do I hate ‘the gays’ and what’s all this about killing yourselves and Waterford Bridge Road?” I feel a lecture coming on…”What’s the allure of this demure throwaway life attitude you have, so many of you.”

This question throws a long echoing silence through the puke stained pews.  A symbol for broken, wasted, busted, beat down lost youth. Or whatever. (Say it like a valley girl honey.)

Breaking the silence I turn to him quietly, “I guess for me I really don’t see the point of any of it beyond a couple of laughs and a lot of highs. I see the corruption that I’m too stupid to fix, that I can’t realistically change.”

Sil interjects “I think generationally we just don’t really have a tether – Everyone exists superficially, digitally we don’t know how to talk to one another we just get drunk or high and crash into each other blindly praying for a little connection on those rare occasions we realize how disconnected we really are.”

“Generationally? Is that even a word?!”

“Shut up milk drinker!” Sil punches me

“Yeah everyone sitting alone in rooms or all together with a *** and coke and a cellphone silently tapping away.”

The pederast nods “you boys need family, children, religion even. You know it brings us together as a community. The ****** of the masses son” He pauses, wagging a finger “and I don’t consider that to be a pejorative.”

Taking a ridiculous swig I nod “I understand the appeal really but I prefer actual opiates  and being alone and not changing.”

After a box of communion wine, (Yes it can come in boxes, look it up) we bid farewell to the swell drunk ‘ol pederast priest, promising to return someday with Irish Mist for his thirsty Irish lips, (Is that bigotry?) the old coot.

“Sil come over and stay in my bed we can binge watch a season of Louie and drink ******’ Borises and I’ll play guitar for you an…” I stammer on

“STOP! You had me at BED” Sil yells at me belligerently as we stagger down Bully Street arms intertwined drunk walking. It’s foggy and misty, our feet soaked and my body is drained of life. Finally we knock into my front door struggling with keys, we must have dropped 5 times.

“I think yer scars are beautiful Sil” (I love it, I do) I tell her softly as I run my hand over them, feeling the slight texture change, the scar raised…We kiss and stare into eyes, not alone not for tonight.

When I was stationed at Enoggera, as a young platoon sergeant with 9 RAR, a Merino ram was offered, and accepted, as the Battalion mascot. The diggers called him Stan. The brigade RSM of the time was outraged because he viewed our adoption of Stan as a direct and improper play on his surname, which was Lamb. And, of course, he being as bald as a coot the diggers called him Curly. As I recall, Stan was a lively, ill disciplined beast with little respect for the niceties of service life, hence:

When Stan-the-Ram met Curly Lamb a fracas did ensue.
For Curly stood beside the road just outside B.H.Q.;
His Sam Brown belt so shiny, his pace-stick 'neath one arm,
The RSM of our brigade was used to war's alarm.

But Stan, although a raw recruit and barely chewing grass,
Unimpressed by Curly, charged and knocked him on his ****.
"It's contact rear" cried Curly, as he struggled to his feet,
Turned about with arms akimbo his assailant for to meet.

Meanwhile Stan's poor handler looked ready to desert
'cos Stan-the-Ram whilst in his care had Curly eating dirt.
I guess he felt embarrassed, which was natural, wouldn't you?
If involved in such a fracas outside of BHQ.

Your questions are but natural and in answer I can swear,
As these events unfolded I was marching off the square.
Having Just dismissed defaulters I was feeling rather mean
But my despondency was lifted by that ****** glorious scene.

And in the mess that evening rang out laughter clear and loud,
For I'd told them all my story and of Stan we felt quite proud.
There was Sutherland and Massingham, and Peter Cowan too
And Tim Daly called **** Gordon from his room, well, wouldn't you?

And when **** heard my story he poured port into a glass,
And we drank a toast to Stanly putting Curly on his ****.

Sleep has been a sluggish pixie and the moon a constant Patheon
Of Twilight Sirens. I am lulled into molasses eyes and am never sane.
Only a  ghost in my sheleton. A malingering cocoon
in the shape of a perpetual Snow White Crane.
I garden the grove of Midnights inner thy
and valiantly persist. I lay siege where I lay down my arms to suffer peace - as merely a mirage of luminous Tchotchkes and stolen kisses from Abyssal Lips.

Under wrong stars, I roam the Halls of UnTime. I go on my way where looming is sprinting into stagnations embrace
with all the vigor of Hermes. Floating in the hall is like surfing a dark gods wave. An undulating fog
of prodigious oblique.  in haste.
I am a Time Machine that writes poetry
and may never finish my Tea.
Earl Grey.

With the Soul of a
Frozen Agog.

Theres an original Aussie lingo
That out there one can hear~
Most of all when you are in the country
And places like that you love so dear~
RIPPA RITA , An aussie bush expression of rejoice~
When something really goes so well
And usually not by choice~
FAIR DINKUM means simply for real
Are you fair dinkum mate~
STRUTH another real Aussie expression
A bush word for something that you hate~
Just a few words of real Aussie lingo
You might hear now and again~
SEND HER DOWN HUGHY they'll cry
When they reall do need rain~
STONE THE CROWS you'll hear them yell
When something happens by surprise~
Often in the country
When they can't believe their eyes~
HOWZ ZAT a bloke will often call out
when he manages to do something better than right~
And very indeed proud of himself
Without trying to skite~
RIGHTIO dad will call out to mum
When she hollows don't forget to get the bread~
TOO FLAMEN RIGHT he'll say back to her
When she says well ... did ja get it ted~
YA GREAT GALLOOT is what they'll call you
When you do something really wrong~
So much original Aussie lingo
They should put it all within a song~
SHIELA'S are of course suingle women
Who often are as well called BIRDS~
All this fantastic Aussie terminology
How I miss all these words~
Ocker's are usually blokes in shorts and thongs
They call thongs Japanese riding boots~
CODJA'S are older blokes
Sometimes they call them COOT'S~
COCKIES are blokes that own properties
STRIKEN A BLOW is a term for work~
BLUDGERS are those that don't like do do it
And being lazy is to of course SHIRK~
All that age old aussie lingo
I miss it so I do~
Can't wait to say HOWZ YA GOEN MATE
And G DAY to a mate or two~
It's all got a sound of it's own
One gets used to it in life~
Like the LITTLE WOMEN and THE BETTER HALF
Is what they call a wife a wife~

( Was'nt game to use spell check lol )

https://youtu.be/PT331BRkkP0

Terrence Michael Sutton
Copyright 2018

An old cowboy who was ruggedly cute
Was bedding down his best friend’s wife
Having the time of his life
Drowned in rot gut *****

Mistakenly thought his wrangler buddy didn’t give a hoot
Until the sudden moment his ex-best friend began to shoot
But he was in luck with uncommon fate
When St. Peter let him in the gate

Knowing he was just a crazy old cowboy coot
Drinking heavenly whisky straight out of his boot

Working on a large sheep prperty once
On days not much doing way out dig cactus
One day doing just this I caught a flash
Owner on his old horse up a hill for practice

Watching me the old coot he was that day
To see if I on my own  was doing my work
The sun sent me a flash from his binoculars
The old guy was an untrusting kind of ****

Just below me a soil erosion twent feet deep
That ran for about a real good mile away
I rode down and right up it for a mile
And right up behind him fifty tards I say

******* my horse sat under a big old tree
Rolled myself a smoke and watched him
Looking all over away down there was he
Chances finding me down there were slim

He was getting so frustrated binoculars too
Where the hell did that bloke go he said
Looking all about for me that day was he
I just smiled rolled another smoke instead

Him standing in his old half worn saddle
Where the hell did that bloke I ask go
I'll be having a real good talk to him later
Can't trust anyone I said nows a good ya know

http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa290/tracymay27/CowboyCampFire.jpg

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

Two piggytails

school girl socks

remove all makeup

add a freckle or two



This is what rocks his boat

pretending he’s a randy old goat



Lollipop to ****

ringlets to twirl

coy innocent smile

shy head down look



I’m his pupil, he’s my master

wish he’d come faster



Shaved down there

bald as a coot

uniform, tie, slightly askew

caning offence, I kneel



My college bills are nearly paid

then I can end this sick charade

Across the road
from the underground station
next to the Christian tabernacle
you sat with Helen

on the standing wall
of a bombed out house
she clutched her doll
Battered Betty

looking around her
I've never been
on this bomb site before
she said

the people who lived here
must have been really scared
if they heard the siren in time
they may have got out

but some didn't of course
you said
trying to imagine
what the houses looked like

before the bombing
how the gardens
may have been well kept
may have had vegetables

and flowers growing
in the small beds
at the back of the house
a lady my mum knew

got blown up
and all they found
was her hand
with her wedding ring

still there
Helen said
******* up her nose
making her thick lens glasses

move on her nose
my mum said
she and her stepfather
used to hide

under the large oak table
in the kitchen
if they got caught out
by the bombing

you said
and Mum said her stepfather's bottom
was sticking out
at one end of the table

Helen laughed
you liked it when she laughed
it made dimples in her cheeks
and her eyes lit up

behind her glasses
best not tell Mum
I've been on the bomb site
Helen said

she said they're dangerous places
they are
you said
but hell what would life be

without a bit of danger?
what does your dad say
when you tell him
you've been on the bomb sites?

she asked
rocking Battered Betty
in her arms
nothing much

except not to wear
my best clothes on there
is that all?
she said

yes pretty much
you said
what about your mum?
you looked at her

her hair tied in two pigtails
her eyes large
beyond the lens
she says be careful

not to climb
you said
but you do
Helen said

you did it just now
to get up here
yes I know that
and you know that

but my mum needn't
you said
banging the back
of your shoes

on the wall gently
don't you tell
your mum everything
you do?

she asked
I do
you frowned
I try not to worry her

you said
doesn't she asked
what you've done or been?
yes but I needn't

tell her everything
you said
she has enough worries
without me adding to them

I think it best
I imagine other places
or things done
to keep her

from worrying
Helen shook her head
you have a strange
sense of truth

she said
holding Betty tight
to her chest
her chin resting

on the doll's head
how about an ice cream
at Baldy's​​​?
you said

Baldy's?
she said
where is Baldy's​?
the grocer shop

before you get
to the railway bridge
down Rockingham Street
you said

the owner is as bald as a coot
she laughed
ok
she said

and so you both
climbed down
from the wall
and walked down

and along
to the subway
and on to the shop
to get ice creams

she smiling
with her battered doll
you with your cowboy
shooting dreams.

A dog in the street,
Such an amazing feet,
Perfume sellers and ‘Hombre’ boots,
Always cut your hair and you’ll be bald as a coot.
WOOF! WOOF! BARK! BARK!
Moor them in a ferry park,
Dogs are ruff, and cats are ****,
Dogs say gruff, and cats make me sick.
Stepping off the pavement, and peeing on posts,
To them, humans may as well be ghosts.
Fluffy dogs and meowing cats,
Wag their tails and scratch like a bat.
Their cute looks never diminish,
That is the fact and this is the finish.

Billy Flynn looked skyward
As the fire slowly died
The embers dancing gaily
They had a hard days ride

He looked down at the fire
At the coals and their red glow
"Better get them horses covered"
"The clouds are bringing snow"

From the back a voice was heard
"You sure, you crazy coot"
He looked to where the voice had come
And he lit up a cheroot

"As sure as we're all sitting here"
"Tomorrow, we'll see snow"
"So, get them horses covered"
"We'll want them warm when we must go"

They'd been out on the trail for months
Now, home was in their thoughts
They'd been hunting down some rustlers
Now, all but two were caught

The two were shot in Texas
In a shoot out first week in
The others caught in Reno
Nearly 21 weeks in

Billy poked the fire
And he said "best keep it hot"
"someone get some wood here"
"I suggest you get a lot"

They finished up their dinners
Billy said we'll leave 'fore dawn
There's someone out there watching
A quick rest, and we'll be gone

He set two cowpokes watching
Tending fire in the night
Watching for intruders
And keeping out of sight

Billy Flynn was old school
A Texas Ranger long ago
If anyone was closing in
Old Billy Flynn would know

"I'm resting now" old Billy said
"I'd suggest you do the same"
"Get the prisoners to the side there"
"To lose them now would be a shame"

He checked on all the horses
Made sure their blankets were pulled tight
Then Billy, grabbed his blanket
And he laid down for the night

In the morning, the ground was covered
It had snowed, three inches plus
The others all were watching
Billy Flynn....he made no fuss

"I could feel it in the air boys"
"The sky was screaming snow"
"I've been out here more than you have"
"That's all you gotta know"

They ate and broke camp quickly
They heard some noises to their right
The men that they had captured
Had friends show up late last night

They were keeping back a distance
Watching, waiting for their chance
While Billy Flynn showed nothing
And helped prolong the dance

"Boys, you'd best get ready"
"There'll be a shoot out sometime soon"
"I figure they'll be coming at us"
"In the open...round 'bout noon"

"Keep an eye around you"
"Move the prisoners to the flank"
"Protect yourself from whatever"
"These men have left in their dry tank"

Billy called it perfect
About five hours on the ride
Six gunmen came upon them
Three came in from either side

Billy took the first one,
Shot him dead, between the eyes
The youngster back behind him
Had never seen a grown man die

It only took two minutes
Thirty seven shots in all
And in the end there was old Billy
Off his horse and standing tall

The six were dead and bleeding
"We'll leave them to the birds"
Two of Billy's men were wounded
And he'd almost lost a third

Two hours on they came to town
Billy Flynn was in the lead
He stopped to get some water
That was all Billy would need

He took his prisoners to the Jailhouse
And his charges to the Doc
Then he went on to the tavern
Ordered drinks from barkeep ****

This talks of Billy Flynn
And true old western tale
Just hope you never ever
Have old Billy on your trail

Billy drank his beer and walked away
He said "It's time for me to go"
"the clouds are saying one thing"
"But, watch out....we're in for snow".

Summer days are past and gone,
And colder days now hurry on.
The lily draws her  tender bloom
deep into the cloudy gloom, and
soft mists risen in the night,
turn to frost at dawns first light.
In the margins of the pond
The ice holds fast the frozen frond,
and under hill the mole curls tight,
safe and warm throughout the night,
pink paws, pink nose, a velvet coat,
all safely hidden from the stoat!
The swans, clothed in their purest white
glide, like ghosts in black of night
as safely on the lake they sleep,
while the coot and moorhen peep
in their dark and sombre suits,
from the tangled willow roots.
The fox that cunning red marauder
creeps stealthily along the border,
as the weakling winter sun
Announces a new day begun.

I'm a little ball of sadness
That gets happied up by you ray of light
You're a never-ending bubble of coot
That loves me and always finds my tail
I love my stick house you made
I'll pay you back in
Hunny pots and love
From my big fat heart
From the tips of my gloomy toes
To the tops of your little black rain cloud

Into the folds of the dress and the mold.
Though he is old and he has no more sense.
You've never heard this, it hasn't been told,
Of the babbling coot: his all-seeing eye.

Drooling over his woodcarving he waits.
The boys find him, his eyes rolling circles.
Old man! Tell us. What's in this box of dates?
Another box, old mans says, just a box.
And within that box? A little boy grates.
Another box, the old man says, just a box.
The boys chatter with glee at what truth sates.
They run off, "Old man ain't crazy! Just old."

Talking to a black bird, the old man sat.
The boys find him: bird nodding agreement.
Old man! Across the sea! How old's old Pat?
A scratch of the chin. "Why, she's fifteen, boys."
The boys, perplexed, walk away; that was that.
"They'll bury him there," old man said. Bird squawks.

Rocking in chair, whistling his old, old tune.
The men find him looking young than ever.
Old man! Been years! Where's the pirate's treasure?
The men drunkenly wait for the magic.
Old man whispers in the ear of the eldest.
Eldest pulls out map; his eyes almost burst.
The men run off as if chasing the sun.

A shovel shakes off its last bead of dirt.
Tears, precious pearls of sorrow, ease burdens.
The men, swathed in finery, mourn for friend.
"Old man!" New eldest asks, "You knew didn't you?"
Old man titters, "I only saw, boys, see?"
New eldest grabs old man. Birds squawk in trees.
Black clouds ooze across the sky overhead.
Winds rattle the old man's house... death rattles.
The men pull new eldest away from there.
Old man drops to ground. He stands up to stare.
The spooked men run off back to their home town.

A black bird swoops onto old man's shoulder.
" 'Twas my box of dates they showed me that day.
Twas my great grandchild Pat who they spoke of.
And 'twas my gold they were all looking for.
My eye only sees what belongs to me!"

The old man sat down in his rocking chair.
In the moonlight, a glimmer of gold eyes,
spoke of a soulless pirate king's riches.

Incandescent, the mystic sign burrowed into
Their untarnished consciousness
Depositing meaning where before,
In related specie, there’d been none. Ok,
At first it didn’t seem such a big thing but
Later, much later, it was.

Creating an object d’art is one thing
For a man wearing animal skins but an entire
Nation is another matter. It took time.
That said, going back seems like just another way
Of going forward.

Out of the encroaching sands crept a single idea
Made out of many others. A pyramid rose out of smaller
But more elegant definitions of power. The greater the power
The vaster the ****** pyramid became,
Enclosing space with a giant flat footstep. Khufu
Lay within, disintegrating slowly,
Convinced of his godlike nature-while minor royalty
Found cheaper ways of preserving body and soul.
Sand covered the Sphinx for two thousand years
Alexander’s body disappeared, Caesar, a manipulative bald
Headed coot ended up under a memorial stone,
Equally godlike and dead.  

Cleopatra may not have been hot after all
But having powerful lovers and dying gracefully
Did wonders for her profile. Long dead,
An icon of femininity and ****** allure, she lives
Forever in a world that desires both.
Quin **** Huangdi surrounded himself with lifelike soldiers
In a bid to recreate reality, as if
Death could be touched by an illusion. Surrounded
By a mercury lake, buttressed by an unmoving army
His bones are as empty in their fashion
As the peasants he ruled over. Can’t cheat it, or
Beat it. Can’t ignore it either.

The personality continues through
Memory aids. A huge gravestone serves as well-
As Khufu discovered. Deeds recorded in
Verse works, but in both methods
The myth becomes greater and the real person,
The one who cried at funerals, failed during ***,
Gets forgotten. Might just as well
Do nothing. It takes less energy, leading
To less disappointment.

The desire to extend privileges into death
Where nothing exists
Is the fantasy of the spoilt for whom life
Must be eternal. An Australian aborigine who
Rallied his people in overdue rebellion against
The European hordes bringing sheep and planting grass
Was killed, stuffed and displayed in an exhibition.
Khufu had himself stuffed and displayed. All famous people
Are stuffed in time and displayed like curios
Dying again and again throughout eternity.

A shimmering lake of my own making,
a flash of blue across the water,
twelve spotless geese conversing
in private tones, reflected.
Coot and moorhen feeding chicks,
This is my delight,
to look upon nature
in the glorious Sun
and smile, contented.

Let's dance!!
Let's put on our leopard skin pants.
Let's throw our hands in the air
and shake it like there is no tomorrow.
Let's dance!!
Who cares if others stare?
Let's dance!!

Come on you old Coot,
toss aside that walker.
Let's dance!!
Lean on me.
Cheek to cheek.
Chest to chest.
Thigh to thigh.
No need to speak.
Let your feet do all the talking,
and your hands...
Oooo-la-la!!
Let's dance!!

Vallabh Savani is so kind and cute
Above all, ready to help any boot –
Low caste, low esteemed or kaput.
Love through his blood does overshoot
And sooths many Sankets who commute
Benevolence to all generations coot.
In dilemma and hassle, he is parachute;
Help for a friend; foe and faulty to execute.
Has contributed to campaign anti-pollute,
Sighted orphans and settled destitute,
Awarded teachers like me and persecute
Vast enmity against him which substitute
Allies as Hardik and myself in healthy lawsuit.
Never saw him angry or upset as he commute;
Insane behaviour is far as never did he salute
Someone, but bowed his head to transmute
Inner love and care to all old and his recruit.
Remain healthy and wealthy! This my tribute.

The barkeep saw him coming, like a drowning man for water
With a look that said he’d been this way before

He looked like he was searching for some thing he might have set down
At a bar or at some all night liquor store.

He finished looking over at the ladies in the corner,
And found a stool and ordered up a drink.

The barman knew a talker when one walked into his barroom,
And he said, “You have a tale to tell, I think.”

The stranger took a sip, and he reached into his pocket,
And set a golden Double Eagle on the wood.

And he coughed behind his smile, and he ordered up another
And he looked up at the barkeep, “Listen good.”

“I made a wager with a stranger at a crossroads down in Texas
Though my Papi would have said that was unwise

He bet a shiny golden dollar against a simple drop of blood
That I'd find myself a love that never lies

Well I looked upon that dollar and I found I was quite thirsty
And that shiny piece of gold looked like a beer

So he took a drop of blood and I took that golden dollar
And a million miles older, wound up here.

Now I’ll pay you for your kindness, with these mugs that runneth over,
With this shiny golden dollar on the bar,

But I’m telling you the truth, for I never was a liar,
That **** coin never seems to travel far.

You put it in your till – go ahead and do it now –
And close it up and pour me one last brew.

In the morning count your take, and I reckon that you’ll find
That gold piece nearer still to me than you.

It’s happened oft before, in every Texas dive,
In every bar and beer hall where gold buys

And I’ve had a drink in each, and I’ve looked around for love,
And I’ve never found a love that never lies.

I’ve never found that love, ‘cause I finally figured out
That once I find her, he will take my soul away.

So I pour myself from here, and I pour myself to there
And I don’t give many folks the time of day.

A pretty maid will chat if she sees that golden dollar
But they never seem to stay a second round

And iffin that they should, and I almost had one offer,
I’m careful not to come back through that town.

So I’ll thank you for your beer, and for hearing of my story,
And for pouring them so heavy and so fine

But I’m sure it’s close to closing, and the evening is a hot one,
And you have your bed to find, and I have mine.”

And the barkeep said good night, and he wished the guy good morrow
And he thought about the tale he’d heard all night.

And just for ***** and giggles, he opened up the teller
And he found out that the old grey coot was right.

There was no golden dollar, in the till nor on the counter,
Though he was certain that he’d put it there secure.

So he shook his head in wonder, and he thought about the story,
And he wondered how the old man could be sure

The barkeep thought of searching for what he didn’t want to find,
And if he’d only look in smoky halls of beer

And he realized what he’d seen, as the fellow’d turned to leaving
In his eyes, what he had noticed was a tear.

And he understood the horror of the crossroads bargain wager
And the lover with the coin who drunken lurched

For as often as he told it, that he hoped he’d never find her,
It was plain enough to see, that still he searched.

POEM 80**
(Cover Me)

“...this whole world’s out there
just trying to score
I’ve seen enough
don’t wanna see any more.
I’m looking for a lover
who will come on in and cover me..”
          Bruce Springsteen, “Cover Me”, from ‘Born In The USA’

~~~~
No matter which way I lay,
half my bed mocks me
with loneliness,
with the chill of emptiness
and “what the hell is the matter
with you,
you old coot”.
Yet, not so old
that I forgot
the warmth of a feminine sigh,
or the scent of her skin
as she drapes her leg
over my thigh
and nestles closer to me.
“Cover me”...
...with your wildly spiced
vanilla sunshine
and deliciously tempting,
ruby lipped serenade
as you touch your lips to mine.
“Come on in and cover me”;
where there is no rain
or snow,
only your springtime breath
traveling over me;
only my summer kisses
wandering all over your
intoxicating contours,
through shapely valleys
and fields,
scaling and nipping
hardened mountain tips,
while enticing your arched back welcoming
and staring into
your desirous eyes.
~~~~
Yes, imagination twists inside
calling out from my empty bed,
cover me - covering you
with currents of naked skin
swimming in timeless exotic seas,
counting our hearts’ rhythm
of should be’s
but are not.
~~~~
So, yes,
still looking for a love to
come in and cover me.

Aztec Warrior 10.27.15

Tempers edge the need
for your anvil head to break.

The way back from work saw
Lowry people scrape the pavement.
Dog-leg drags of shuffle, of make-up slide,
mixing flea-skin sweat with pollen rub
into a tincture of stench.

This is image that I do not want

I have
half a mind to **** but I
cannot be bothered, the other ,a
a monologue of delirious ramblings
some" French kings versus
squadron mottos" thing...
and , in truth, I am not sure what
it's going on about.

I am indoors, windows open, curtains closed
naked from the waist down, feeding the freedom
of sprawl- but this is mistake of gargantuan order
a cosmic, foolish, schoolboy- error of judgement.

The sofa is leather.

My scar tangled manners are reports of my standing
an amateur tanners spewed stew of expletives.
In a half-arsed way it seems  
I am to remain

part of the furniture

I search for shorts.. long shorts, short longs, whatever,
my legs and **** seek the solace of cloth.

On the canal a coot needs oiling
what feels like 20 minutes of incessant jar is
tapping with my rationale
Testing my love for all things feathered.

Something needs to give.

I am a Gobi taste of sandal straps and
in dire need of irrigation/ rehydration
I have waited way too long for liquid...
Don't get me wrong, this isn't some test
of deprivation- this is heat swung laziness
that is all it is..nothing more
nothing less..

And so..

We will get it tonight
You cannot pull isobars this far apart to
not have them break..
And that ogrish flat-top is thugging
the harbour side rents..

Ah yes...

"Après moi le deluge"

Seems to make sense, now