I don’t have to make much of a sound.
I can let the sentences coalesce
in the air, a dual carriageway of words
interspersed with a laugh.
The names I store are few.
I don’t have to yank them
from the chest, swipe off clumps of dust -
they glow when they need to
like fireflies swaying in the night.
I dribble out my current affairs,
watery vowels from my mouth.
Am I boring you?
Voice like an elderly hoover,
interest tumbling down the stairs.
You’ve done more in five minutes
than I have in five weeks.
I blink, then I sink.
It’s OK.
The days of rapid chat
are six feet under,
flaws knocked out of shot,
not as blindingly bright.
I wonder where you were years ago.
We’d know more;
my gawky movements less present,
my mind not pulsing
with impossible possibilities.
Still I shudder at the distance between us.
Pauses plump as bubbles
that can’t be popped.
The flow halted
by my wodge of insecurity.
No bother.
I swallow what I can,
let the taste coat my throat.
If you sparkle
you can help me too
without being aware.
The sludge will vanish for a while.
You don’t even have to make
too much of a sound.

I am not drunk you will have
to have me like this
and I’m sorry about that
with my teeth pumped full of silver
my toes like awkward twigs

now my hand is on your shoulder-blade
where I taste honey
and I find the scar you said you had
a misty oblong splash on the back
of one arm

then I seem to lose control of my lower face
the biology out of whack
it is moving about as if
yawning but not yawning
more chewing a wodge of sickly toffee

you are on me
touching me like this happens
to anyone with a wonky pulse
a gurgle in their gut
that sounds like a faulty washing-machine

have I made this up
am I zipping seamlessly through
each lucid scene without so much
as a blink
a sour cough

does it matter
you are playing me
as your favourite guitar
twanging the strings
to make me sort of sing

I have miles just miles
of words to spill out to say
but I don’t know how
to rotate them together
just yet

a wodge uh Wrigley’s
  ‘ard an knobbly on thuh underside
uh desks

shufflin’ tuh DJ Caspar
  in thuh ‘all
unduh thuh gaze uh
  year three’s

it were
  packed lunches,
dislodging mi brace
  from thuh roof of mi mouth
like extractin’ a tooth,
  scoffin’ bars uh white chocolate

years-old Blu-Tack
  stamped black intuh carpets,
grey plastic-y chairs,
  writin’ learnin’ objectives,
underlinin’ dates
  with shatterproof rulers,
I upgraded tuh a pen
  in year four

same time
  remember listenin’ on the radio
in Scottish Clark’s mobile
  when it wuh Ingland v Brazil,
summer uh ‘02,
  thuh likes of Sheringham, Beckham
in audio only, no picture,
  and thuh TA came in
  ‘alfway throo a lesson,
said ‘we’re out’

and the time
  I cort that cricket ball,
dived and it stung mi hand,
  a crimson-drizzled palm,
throbbin’ ring

and the time
  we played football wi’ tennis *****
and I blurted intuh a trio
  uh eager classmates,
a tumble-shirt compote,
  knee flecked wi’ grit, mi own spit,
skinny whispers uh blood

and thuh time
  I plagiarised Potter
around Azkaban,
  got a Woolies notebook,
ragged Pritt-Sticked cuttins’
  of Watson in the pink ‘oodie,
but it wuh the seed
  for thuh next decade and more,
standin’ up,
  tellin’ a story,
somethin’ or othuh

I would like them to be,
Something special between you and me,
Maybe where I left my will,
Or funny like 'told you I was ill',
Or I'll give you directions to hidden treasure,
Or a wodge of cash to be spent on pleasure,
But on a list of final words the number one,
Would simply be, "I love you son".

A helpful teen
with girly friends
on holiday
in Newquay
let the lesson
commence.

Can you do me a favour
if you're off to the shops;
pick me up tampons,
marked normal on’t box

Yep, no problem at all.

Wow, a real mouth stretcher
a jumbo wodge porker
it slaps the ground
as it drops from my mouth

But Lisa and Liam are playing charades
exchanging sniggers, a ***** gaze
and don’t notice it slip under the sofa
to die.

Should 16 years old boys
know what they are?
I eyeball bus stop ads searching for clues
as I arrive at my reckoning
the Aldiest, Aldi, I’ve ever seen

I stakeout the aisle
containing ladies’ things
You know, lipsticks, cotton pads,
water that smells
I check for security
before I begin
some premeditated
drive-by
purchasing;
Yes, just like when I buy condoms

****. That’s one massive box!
a gargantuan bedrock
why didn’t she say?
how will I lug that all the way?
Shall I say they’ve sold out?
And each box is different
pluralist rejoice!
but none providing normal
as an option or choice
  
A shop assistant enters the aisle
at high noon
I’m forced to ask.
**** it, **** life, **** me in the ****!

Excuse me, Tracey (ooh pretty name)
what size do you buy
when you’re investing?
IN THESE - I ****** a box into her face
I still don't know why to this day
She reaches round me
'here you are love'
and rushes to safety
under plastic tassels

As I heave home my prey
what hero’s welcome will I receive?
a metrosexual epithet?
a badge of honour?
a heraldic coronet? Nope

SUPER! what the heck?
How big do you think my ***** is?

Now
I grew up in a house,
3 brothers
no daddy
and mother rarely talked about
what went up there

Lisa, settles and pulls me aside
Places her hands on my arms
‘Now, close your eyes’
Remember
last summer
after the fair
We swapped cidery kisses
on the bench by the tree
when it got dark
you put your hand up my skirt
what did it feel like?
A warmed poached egg…

…Strange, but ok
But not like Cheddar Gorge
Not a draughty, cavernous, unending space.
a vacuum, encompassing time and space!

…goes unpunished.