from arcademuseum
after
burger van
bacon rolls
fatty - chewey - good
we go down the pier
in army surplus and dusty boots
and
hit
the
arcades
with
pockets heavy with last nights bar change
and
cider hangovers
drowned and subdued
by
electric bells
and
ancient patterned carpets spiraling like headaches
and
too
much
Tekken
old people in macs
sat
outside
on sheltered benches
tearing up bread for gulls
and
reading
folded
papers
look
like
colourised 1950s news reels
w e get drunk again
in the half-way bar
shaking with storm waves and sea gales
the
tide
surging
angry and white underneath thin planks
and
charging
up
the
stone
beach
in a mad disease of froth
a tv crew set up
and pretend they're in a different town
we throw peanuts at them
and
call
them
out
on their lie
i've no money
for
a
Neds Atomic Dustbin gig that night
so
i wait in a borrowed car
parked
in
a
steep hill car park
i smoke joints
and
look out at the black and the dotted lights
wondering and wondering
then i try to sleep
freezing cold - itchy - angled
later
we're
in a five story house of stairs
and cupboard bathrooms
and
someone crushes up E's at bedtime
on
the
coffee table with a dessert spoon
and
filling his nose
runs
off
to
catch
the
last
train to Charing Cross
while
we
stay
and
laugh
and
drink
from
tins
and
wonder
if he made it
and
make up bizarre scenarios
about
his
journey
from dreamstime
