Tuesday, 9 January 2018

HE HAD HIS ROUTINE (BOLLOX)




after
enough
draft carlsberg
and
bottled grolsch
and
smuggled-in
under-the-table
bulls blood wine
we
would 
all 
be
teenage loose in torn levis
smoking fag machine fags
and
singing syd barrett songs
on the long cemetery path
under
a
bruised black eye sky
and
a
carpet stain moon

~

and
he
would
always
stop
by the dance studio
and
try to get a glimpse
of ladies in lycra
thru 
the 
big sash bar windows

beer breath clouding the glass
nose smearing shapes in grease
mumbling
sexual
swearwords
like some heathen predator
in season 
and panting

of course it was dark inside
of course it was long since shut

we told him that
in drunken resigned exasperation

but him
he had his routine

~

and
he
would
barge and fumble
into
the
phone box
on 
bear corner
and
dial 999
to
shout

BOLLOX

at the operator
in
as
guttural and blank and base
an
estuary bark
as
you
can
get

it seemed to sate him

him
he had his routine

~

well we told him 
not to do it
well we told him 
it was dangerous

in drunk and resigned exasperation

but him

he
had
a
need in the night

and we all know about that

~

and
he
would demand
money from us

GIV US FUKKING TEN PEE
ISS ONL' FUKKING TEN PEE

if
he
was
left
short

and we would pay up
to get it over and done with

throwing
coins
at
his
feet
like he was a dancing bear
as if that would put him off

but him
he had his routine

~

and we never ever told him
calling 999 
was free

so 
there
was
as much a kind of balance
in all that
as
there is in anything
on
the
long cemetery path
under
a
bruised black eye sky
and
a
carpet stain moon




Image result for red phone box fobbing

pic from ewhurst-broadband.com

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