Who needs King George?

I’ve been taken off the list
and so I’ll go out on the lash
and get absolutely pissed
forget that I have missed out
yet again
forget the overwhelming pain
I wake up with my head stuck
down the drain
wishing I were dead

but then the hangover which
hung over me
like a thunderstorm above a
ship at sea will slowly fade away
today will focus for me in a
blinding epiphany I will see
another list where I could be
another name they’ll put in
a frame and hang in a dusty hall
fuck them
I don’t need a list
don’t need to go out
or be pissed
don’t need the sacrifice of
being nice to add to the spice of
not being so nice to them

the ramble kicks off.

I do it
did it
rid myself of it
rebuilt it to where my image
filtered through the cracks of
god knows where and who’s he?
but another name on the long longer list
of deities forgotten and only seen in
the mist of minds
and it goes on as I do
into blue bruised nights
sirens, flashing lights

the dogs sleep soundly and
dream of foxes
I stack boxes building cardboard city
from the ground and
underneath Waterloo where my
heart was on the mainline
for a short time
I sleep too.

Occasionally when you think it’s done
but then realise that nothing has begun
in earnest and it’s just a practise session,
I am
a learner taking lessons from the scribe,
one of the tribe.

then it’s back to basics,
3 and write your life in blood upon
the cross that’s formed by
nailing wood together
and together
we’ll be born again

then of a sudden as it has to be
the ramble’s over
time for tea
or in this case which is in any case
calls to say
‘it’s ready’
I have to go
I’m hungry

© 2018, John Smallshaw.