Work Party – a poem

The existence of the crowd around me as I resist the loudness and sound. My endocrine

glands leak panic, my face glitters and is frantic, and my flesh displays outward pleasure, manic

“Pleased to see you, it’s been too long!” – I air-kiss and grasp arms and wish myself away

as I stay, and my talk is small and empty and so is theirs, my feet hurt and my drink is empty

Continue reading “Work Party – a poem”

Work Party – a poem

The Good Plates – a poem

(A tribute to someone who I no longer have to give a shit about)

The Good Plates

You own a “good” dinner set that you can’t allow yourself to use

You excuse and are obtuse as to why not, you are excessive

In the face of opposition.

Your position is that your mission is to keep it nice,

unbroken, unsullied, unused and so another set is purchased;

The second best set.

And these ones you allow to get wet, but you still expect reverence.

They’re delicate but not untouchable and still quite valuable

You calculate, and hesitate to even place these before

those undeserving and unnerving, who you don’t let yourself respect

Mostly they get to eat off the the third-best set.

The Good Plates – a poem

Baby man – prose to a certain type of person

A small bit of prose dedicated to a certain someone

*

The thing that’s so sad

Is you’re so close to ‘good’

A small whisker off ‘nice’

If you just understood.

You’re often quite fun

Good looking and fit

If only you were not

So totally shit. Continue reading “Baby man – prose to a certain type of person”

Baby man – prose to a certain type of person