Outline

I’m still trying to prove
Something of value lurks
Inside this precious metal
A gift, or a token, a symbol
Of following orders?
I look back wearily at
Each decade I’ve worn it
Pour scorn on lessons learnt
The times I left myself wide open
Sticking the knife in for not
Having the foresight
To prepare, or to improvise
Making peace with a woman
That makes me frown
Even after all this time
I can still hear a young voice
Whispering into my ear
Her first impression left
The biggest crater
But its outline hardly
Resembles the monster
I rue the day I met

Spoons

Art deco buildings
Grand empty spaces
Where voices used
To travel in time
Reflections, finding an ear
A decade too late
Now, just a backdrop
For a seventy-year old man
Drooling over his first pint
Certainly, it’s cheaper than
Waiting to die in chains
Spoons abundant
He splatters red sauce across
The dark-mahogony table
And waits patiently
To make passes
At the young waitress
While she cleans
The words from each ear
He remembers a friend
Long dead now
Leasing old buildings
Commercial opportunist
Shaking hands
In the business
Of doing business
With fleece holders
Woolly rights
“Keep yerr cotton on
It was just a joke”
He coughs
She offers him a light
To quicken his demise