dodge city

 

 

i don’t know who on earth

she thinks she is

 

but when i tell her

whereabouts in liverpool we are from

 

her face turns sour

like shes found

 

some of her fat husbands testicle hairs

in her gin!

 

maybe she thinks im planning

to send my cousins round

 

in their balaclavas and boiler suits?

or something?

 

maybe its not such a daft idea!?

imagine the fun we could have

 

a gang of us

climbing through

 

their window in the dead of night

to kidnap her and her husband!

 

we could tattoo them

blue!

 

sellotape

half chewed toffees

 

to their foreheads

and their cheeks

 

dress them up

in our scouser wigs

 

and bright purple and pink

shellsuits

 

 

handcuff them up

outside john lewis'

 

till it opens

in the morning

 

guarded by two evil

half starved looking

 

pit bulls

 

called

 

“calm down calm down”

 

and

 

“giz a job”

 

 

 

lions in the living room (a dream)

 

 

getting home

from a miserable

empty

poetry reading

to find

hank still

face down

on the sofa

 

he

mumbled something

into the cushions

 

about

having to get

the goldfish back home

before they suffocated

 

rolled over

 

sat up

 

and

looked

at me

 

wild

 

half recognition

 

a blurry shape

framed

by the doorway.

 

his

red face

indented and smudged

 

newspaper headlines

inked to his forehead

 

bits of fur

and the torn off ears

of a huge teddy bear

glued to his beard

with spittle and booze.

 

and then

looking around

seeing

his pack of beast

all gone

 

suddenly

 

spotting

something

on the stairs behind me

only he could see

 

he leapt up

 

and

came running at me!

 

shouting

something

about lions!

 

shouting that

i didn't have a clue

what love was!

 

the plastic bag

by his side

burst

 

spraying water

everywhere

 

two plastic

teddy bear eyes

spinning off

the sofa

 

in a storm

of screwed up

balls of paper

 

scattered

blindly

across the

wooden floor

 

and

spun

slow motion

on their edges

between

the two flapping goldfish

 

like two

black and white coins

in the middle of decision

and he was

still

coming at me!

 

charging at me!

 

charging at me thru me shouting

 

the aroma of cheap lager and cigarettes

 

and the feeling

that

i had been punched in the gut

 

screaming

thru me

and

out the other side.

 

he

disappeared

down

the stairs

 

grappling with

whatever it was

i couldn't see.

 

his shouts

echoing

back up

between

each crash and bang…

 

“you haven’t got a clue

what love is…

 

“none of you have ever been in love”

 

    “…YOU           HAVEN'T GOT A CLUE…

 

WHAT LOVE IS…

 

                …what love could ever be…”

 

 

 

a northern soul

 

 

sat in the takeaway waiting.

 

it was the voice that got me! that accent whipped my head right round!

 

she d just walked in. bouncing, laughing on a gust of cold wind and let rip

in front of all the drunks.

 

“i usually have dinosaurs and i was just wonderin if i could use your toilet?”

 

no one had a clue what she was on about.

 

one of the blokes came out of the back to hand someone their food.

“he knows me! u know what i mean don’t u !?”

 

he nodded. laughed.

 

she disappeared

                                     and bounced back out a few moments later

 

“chips and toothpicks please… next time ill bring dinosaurs! right!?”

 

she sounded so much like you.

 

not the dinosaur nonsense, but that same magic, unconcerned with herself,

with what the rest of the world might think madness.

all blonde pigtails, loose pink belt and jeans, blue t shirt leaning over the counter

 

i would have married her on the spot, in a second.

 

except i saw her face. it wasn’t yours! her voice wasn’t really yours and you re

still just a glorious idea. more flesh than bones.

 

she left with her friends. skipping thru the door, back out onto the wind.

 

my pizza came. i walked home.

 

glad.

 

your face was smiling again, in that place it hasn’t been for ages

 

and i was thinking that perhaps there s a reason? if there s method in it?

 

remembering just how fucking good it could have been between us and

 

wondering if your numbers still the same would i have the balls to

pluck up the courage to call you again?

 

 

 

 

pearson terrace winter

 

 

it s of no use

laying here

                     pondering

 

the tea stains and the marmite drips.

 

hoping that in between

each of thelonious monk s or charlie

rouse s riffs

 

between each house, each car alarm.

 

                    between

                                   each

                                            hop

of the tv channel

 

                            the premiership.

meet joe black. the soft porn thriller on 5.

who dares wins. ben affleck selling l’oreal……

 

 

between each sneeze, each glass of wine

 

 

the words will come.

 

the ones to steal her heart.

 

                                  the ones to win yours back.

 

          those glorious ‘immortal lines’.

 

(ii)

 

how is it that you can smell the nicotine on someones

skin, like they re holding their yellowed fingers right

under your nose, from two solid walls and a hall away?

 

why does the tiny moth keep on spiralling  upwards

towards the light in such desperate circles? like

hes dancing, intoxicated by the glow the heat. by

 

the way that monk is playing?

 

(iii)

 

out of 36 emails

the only one from a ‘real’ human being

was from Margaret and said

 

“I have been from Russian and

for a man like you I have been lookink”

 

 

 

 

singel haiku

 

windows breaking

on the surface of the canal

scattering moonlight

 

under a purple mushroom sky

ripples cross the mind

into stillness

 

 

copyright © chris stephenson

2008