[Ready?]
Yes but I really don’t approve of your obvious use of anabolic steroids. It’s an amoral and cowardly shortcut. And don’t even get me started on the innumerable adverse effects. Don’t even get me started.
[Can you keep up ?]
Of course but can we talk? Can we talk? The size and shape of your head is comical who do you think you’re kidding? You have, by far, the roundest head I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but imagine you as an obtuse High School English professor who doesn’t understand the source of his students’ laughter but really, it’s because you gave me a C on an essay because you say I had a “circular” argument. Or as an equally clueless physics professor generating chuckles left and right in response to your lecture on “spherical” whatsits in a vacuum.
[Are you tired?]
No, we’re not done yet—Am I right? Am I right? Look at you. If God ever were to create guns or pumps or pecs of that size, it would only be by way of some syntax error.
[How about now?]
No, let me finish—Who are you trying to impress? Masculinity most certainly isn’t the word to use. I’d say monstrosity. Who do you think is or would be attracted to a walking, talking industrial sized freezer. If a woman needs protection, she’ll find a guard dog of necessary ferocity. Or maybe, she’ll cultivate some kind of relationship with you and find comfort in the fact that if she ever upsets you, you could break the ***** in half without the slightest hitch.
[……]
I don’t even want to know the state of the pinpricks you at one point called your testicles
[……]
I wouldn’t even say it’s proper to call you “Mr. Universe”. You’re big, but you’re not that big. I’m more inclined to call you “Mr. Pampered and Pumped up New England”. I cannot comfortably call you Mr. Universe because I’m not comfortable having you represent my universe. The “Mr.” signals the “Master”. That’s just appalling. And what is with the spray tan? What is the true pasty picture of Mr. Universe throughout the winter months?  If someone ever has a question for the Master of the universe, I’ll be sure to tell them to direct their questions to the beefed up and bloated tangerine to my left.
[……]
……
[……]
Are we done?
[No]
How far have we gone?
[Nowhere]
What?
[You have gone too far, but we haven’t even walked out the door. Once you’re finished running your mouth, we can work on getting your fat, saggy *** into shape.]

zeitgeist
yuppiedoms

xanthic
whatsits

vibrate
unabashedly

toot­hsome
salutations

requiring
qualifications

pernickety
officiald­om

nagging
malestroms

leaving
kindness

jaundiced
imoliated

**­rrendous
gargoyles

feign
empathy

disastrous
calamity

boodles
a­tonement

someone told me to get drunk and smash things
because that’s what life does to you and
its only polite to return the favour.

i bled that night. i watched your knife slice my skin,
but i didn’t scream. i didn’t deserve to.
did your blade like the way my vein brushed against it?

i drank. i drank and i drank and i drank.
absinthe makes you hallucinate but they’ve never been heartbroken.
the wallpaper is peeling. the windows are barred.

(i don’t want to know where i left the key)

i tossed my life out and i set it on fire
because someone told me to get drunk
and smash things.

i stopped writing. i kept writing. i stopped.
the saddest word in my vocabulary?
“i don’t want to write because then it’s over.”

i have become a collection of misconceptions and
not understandings with a mumble jumble of hoosits
and whatsits because i can’t end this poem.

my mother is losing her words
or at least, misplacing them
(there may well be,a great pile of them, lying around
lauguishing, somewhere)
her mind is slipping,
on it's weary and
hard-work-worn cogs.

she sometimes has difficulty,
grasping new concepts,
or attatching two thoughts,
coherently together.
and sometimes the blankness behind her eyes
reaches the horizon and beyond.
(and scares the very dickens out of me)

we have lots more, doovers
and thingies and whatsits,
in the house...
and usage of these and other,
all purpose words,
that lead to subtle guessing games,
has increased manifold,
creating  conversations,
that drift, into the territories of
"remember the kid with the
doover thingies,
red....on his head.... on his head" !!!
(the boy with the beautiful
red curls and corksrew ringlets)

perhaps having been,
away and now returned....
i see this more  clearly.... whereas, whilst, living
with it daily.
....you just compensate ... and move on.

my brothers  do not want to know this.... and nor does she want them to....
they,
have busy lives.....
(note the irony lost and languishing here)

i am concerned,
and speak to both her doctor and the bluecare nurse,
who comes to  help with her abulutions and dresses the abrasions from her latest fall.

they say things like,
she is, within the healthy range for her age, 85.
however, there is marked
depreceation in certain areas.....
we need to keep an eye on her...
( and i am reminded of my old combi, sad but true)

in the meantime...
mother, no longer does the cryptic crossword, citing it as mere balderdash(these days)
and we often find the daily
incomplete...