Tuesday 6 November 2012

PARTY, PART 16



OI!
shouts out a stumbling man down in the rain shiny street
his bellow louder than the drills
and 
can
almost
smell the thick funk of warm Fosters 
swinging in his thin carrier bag

-thinking back . . . 

(blue sirens now WAILING north
piercing
piercing
so bloody piercing!
they come this way 
they’re directional you know; invention of a lady)

-think back . . .

to the dark crowded heave of half-remembered 
booze glossed faces looming barking celebrating
and 
realise
i never meet some of them sober 
at all

theres tiny pixies 
in toy clothes 
with small glasses
held perfectly still
and a bulging blonde calling out my name when i pass her clique
and
kids
playing their tiny business down on the floor
behind
careful
parent legs/thrilling in the late night freedom
of
adult
land




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