Ending Epigraph

If you stay in one poem long enough
You’ll meet everyone
I’ve ever met

In Wetherspoons
In Aberystwyth
If you drink in Wetherspoons
In Aberystwyth.

This sunny morning, my ex-wife
Once she starts the proceedings.

And Elizabeth.

I’m glad I got some new shoes
For previously I had none of my own
A small 9 in place of a large 7
Must find that student and buy him a beer.

Not many people live in Trisant and
I’ve met two of them today

Tied a Palestine Solidarity banner
To some railings
Not damaging the flowers.

“So she left you and goes out with G—?”
No! That’s her dad.
“Sorry, I don’t know the neighbours;
I live a quarter of a mile away.”

Twenty-four miles in someone else’s shoes.
Ten pounds (discounted) to obviate the agony
In my ankles.

They point and stare, I stare and point.

Zero eight hundred
Zero two three
Zero zero two three.

Fore english press one
Nihong-wa …

I pressed one.

No answer.
“Good morning.”
Nothing else to say
Nothing else intended
I’m alive – a recurse to a dream.

Parallel or parallax
Whom is it that I attacks,
And what’s egg-nog anyway.

Run away.

17 miles of barbed wire
I didn’t have a scarf
Suffocation —
No, paroxysm.

We’re not done yet.
Academic travellers wearing Sister of Mercy t-shirts
Parade the streets
And find my pubs.
And leave – and look back
And turn to salt

Maybe she was just interested
Or had a camera and wished t0 document
The fall.

A band seemingly unavailable on FLAC.

O god! People are in the pub.
I’ll have to queue
Without value
Except my girlfriend’s size 7 shoes
Worth a piss to risk?
Ted Baker top that cost me 7 quid from a shop in Brixton.

Somebodies
Somebody else’s shoes.

My dad’s jacket
(Tho’ it’s mine now.)

Peanuts that I haven’t bought yet and won’t.

Free.

Knees hips and shakers
Pinstriped blue on white or white on blue
“Don’t wear a tracksuit, they won’t let you in.”
Laughter.

Hair, pigeons, pavement.
Hypocrisy and ridicule in reverse order.
The aggravating tourists run for the train
With dogs
In tow

Whilst old ladies in faded lurid pink trundle on
And that guy wonders whether he was with them.

Howl.

Shit! That is my train
Hard to miss when it comes only every two hours
Shame you were watching slugs eat cat biscuits.

There’s no sense warding evils off with salt
When the ground will take all you can give it.

Sheer dampness — dank
Mauve and cyan, a football top’s colours
Yet striped
Horizontally
With shades.
And a plastic bag glaring “Matalan”.

Shop online — save time
Save plastic
Save stamps
Save jesus — su nioj.

Three out of four.
I can see what you can’t see either.
Don’t trip.
Don’t stumble
Look disdainful
Hide.

Roll away in your merry-go-around
The back.

August 2010

 

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About sammyhilbertspaess

Double Agent (at least)
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Ending Epigraph

  1. Pingback: Poetic Republic Poetry Prize 2012 | sammyhilbertspaess

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