The Ceasefire Sunday

We wake up about noon,
hungover and warm,
our clothes still
scattered on the floor,
she brushes back her
long red hair and says
‘We should probably
get up soon,’
‘Probably,’ I reply
and I turn on the radio
to one of those ambient
and never ending
Brian Eno songs,
before we suddenly hear
some scuffling above us—
‘What’s that?’ she asks
‘A pigeon in the loft,’ I reply
‘That wasn’t a pigeon!
This place isn’t haunted,
is it?’ she then asks
‘Not that I know of,
but I definitely dusted
some cobwebs off myself
last night,’ I add
and she doesn’t find it funny,
but she holds me close again
and that means a lot
for two strangers
in these bat shit crazy times.

I Am Bristol

Haunted by my past,
with enough rage
to teardown statues—
as each year changes
my appearance
even more noticeably
than the last.

Street drugs
and fresh smoothies—
my being like this city
torn between
self preservation
and self destruction.

A unique blending
of influences,
backgrounds and tastes—
yet still predictable,
like my return to
this city and home—
always again,

To Teleport

I was babysitting a friend’s six year old son
one afternoon and not knowing what to do,
I’d walked him down the park—
where we’d stumbled upon a large
moss covered rock and and had both
climbed it like it was a miniature mountain.

‘If you had a superpower what would it be?’
the kid asked,
‘I’m not sure, I’d love to fly, but that also
sounds tiring. So I’d choose the ability
to teleport.’ I replied.

From being chased down backstreets,
to trying to find my way across a snowy
mountainside in the middle of a whiteout,
I started thinking of how useful teleporting
would have been at certain points in my life—
not to mention the ability to teleport home
when I’d get too drunk—
but I did a good enough job of disappearing
and appearing in strange places anyway
and at that I felt a sense of gratitude,
for all of the weird and wonderful
people and situations in life
that could all too easily be missed,
if it wasn’t through the dumb luck
of sticking around somewhere long enough.

‘Which superpower would you choose?’
I asked him,
‘Night vision eyes,’ the boy replied promptly,
‘That’s a much wiser choice,’ I said, smiling.