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Breakfast
in Paris
Hair
well combed, moisturized face,
looking
and smelling of a fragrance from Italy.
Combined
with my features, I am
the
perfect mother’s son. The image of me.
I
have images of you in Paris somewhere,
a
leisurely breakfast, croissant and coffee,
possibly
writing or painting before
a
gentleman escorts you home.
But
then, that’s not the picture
played
out for you, my mentor.
You
were snared by the skilled,
sly
hunt’s man and his peacock’s
perfect
military uniform and you
were
secretly given your family.
You
once cried for what could have been,
and
it shook my world at 5 years old.
But
now here I am, almost as old
as
you were then, that morning
cooking
our breakfast in tears,
as
my older sister comforted you.
Sitting
here in Asia, I think of you.
I
write all I’ve done, ask how you are and
address
it to your Paris apartment,
but
of course, it will never be sent.
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Her
Aryan Experiment
The
10 months are up and here we stand.
Her
Aryan experiment completed now.
Conclusion
– ‘Fun, but it could never last.’
Standing
outside in the ice cold bullet February
evening,
she looks from side to side as if
the
walls of the houses stood in condemnation.
We’re
in a dark corner, around from her
house
she’d never let me in, her Asian
house
acquaintances could not know of her
western
boyfriend, ‘It just wouldn’t be right.’
Although
secret, forbidden, hidden away it was
still
a real heart pounding, want to die moment.
Last
saw her as she clumsily turned and waved
goodbye.
She couldn’t say goodbye, someone might hear.
Walking
home I marched, like my dad had taught me to,
told
myself to suck it up, like life’s persuaded me to.
At
the corner shop buy, dirty booze and dirty cig’s.
My
friend and I make a toast to all the fish in the sea.
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Old
Legs
There
is panic in a place of work.
Some
run but most stand by
in
dumb frozen shock.
The
gray, mature man dies
lying
in paperwork. Fits and foams.
He
becomes numb and watches
his
feet twitch for the last time.
Thinks
of the places they’ve taken him.
The
little boy toddles by him
and
with his tiny legs, red shoes,
he
climbs the stairs of the house
that
he lived in as a child.
His
eyes don’t close, they cloud over
there
is a peace he’s never known.
It
fades to black then for a brief
moment,
everything becomes clear.
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Teacherbullynerd
I
am teacher, large and strict,
but
forever student, skinny and gray.
We
play pranks on the nerdy boy
but
I catch them and break it up –
punish
them, and their leader, myself.
Look
at the boy with his dark eyes,
as
he sings my praises with mouse’s voice
for
finally having saved his dignity.
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Tuesday
Afternoon Shopping
This
one night stand that I was looking for
has
now wasted 4 months of my life.
She
looked beautiful on the dance floor,
that’s
all different on Tuesday afternoon
as
she dumps a large box of condoms
into
the shopping trolley. She says,
‘It
costs less when you buy more of them.’
‘That’s
great.’ I say behind her back
whilst
making a gun with my fingers.
I
kill her, then blow my own brains out.
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