Rocks and ages

It is made very clear
that they don’t want you here
as you try to get near
to the fire.

A man of the cloth
a bit like a moth
attracted to the flames.

And there are names that they call you
as the white cross falls from you
and the shadows come for you
like you knew that they would.

You sleep like a cherub on
a bed made from heartache
which makes a change from
the bar floor, but the sawdust
clings to you
and the fire will consume you.

I’m drinking some ‘jake’
which I made in the bathtub
and it doubles as a body rub
when the weather gets cold.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.