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"salula" poems
I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.
0
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
malcolm-f-davidson
Night Labors
I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.
Continue reading...
35
I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.
0
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
malcolm-f-davidson
Night Labors
I cannot remember the name of the boy, not much younger than me It was his first time, with a girl, he said shyly, “My first time!” Oh for the time that it was my first time, my first time those precious few years ago before the mud, and the beer and men night on night my sisters and I selling the pink make a trade, serenade, for some dash, ready cash We are poor, no jobs, with no career. I remember the name of my friend, Salula, who took me in When I came to the town, a truck stop, built on fear and greed, *** and need. I go to see her every week In the cemetery, where she lays, stilled with the sickness Ravaging me, ravaging you I will die from slim disease, some call it, And there are those that live, in denial, So we succumb, me and the brothers and sisters Give a smile, for a while, hold him tight, through the night We get 5 bucks a trick Makes you think, have a drink, get to bed, soon be dead, My daughter sleeps at home when I’m out, working My office can be the back of a truck, my desk a brown mahogany belly. An appendage for a pen, writing desperation all over this sad page of life. Laptop takes on a different meaning In the bar, not to far, soon be dawn, feel forlorn, need a rest, leave my breast Those boys, don’t understand, as they pile out of their lorries Day after day, My little girl awakes, when I shuffle in, barely able to stand After a long night of labours We smile and talk before I slide into the only bed we have Exhausted. In ten hours I’ll be working again Selling my body, giving out gifts of togetherness Descending down, down, ready to meet my friend Salula for a night make it right, get some bread, soon be dead, soon be dead, soon be dead.
Continue reading...
35