Fridge opens, alighting flies parading
Leaving donuts flyblown
Hot day’s a dog’s one
Make bog of hash driveway
Even hideaways turn out today.
He is seventy five, lives in sixty four
Elderly neighbour Elmore leans, turning on the radio
Confined to a chair since Rolfe had hair
Fog Hat blaring
Taliban? Fuck that written on his hat
Compulsively tucking hair behind his ears
Served three terms, three years.
Kraken day outside, dark rum tumblers
Coke iced, talking numbers
Mercury Rising like a goth girl’s first inquiry
Gran thief-besotted opens locked chest
Chequebook after a convict licks her breasts
They sleep holding hands like otters
Says he’s from Florence, sounds like Del Boy Trotter
Out for her florins via her frillies and feelings.
Convicted of criminal damage
During trial lawyers revealed a disadvantaged childhood
A reviled father figure upon whom all could be pinned.
He loves to quote
Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone
Now he is, purportedly, infatuated with my fat, ancient granny Dorcas.
Magwich at my Christmas dinner, smoking cigarettes
Tapping ash commotions into Bisto-oceaned gravy boat
“Approaching sixty” winking as if to say how long ago that was
“I fought about me own place in ‘istory
I mean, I ‘ave no littul kids, no moufs ta feed
I’d like to ‘ave someone to leave a bit behind to
And company ain’t bad eivah
Fouht I’d die alone til I met this diva
What a sort!”
There are Discords where men like this
Predators who prey on pensioners
Get hunted by disgruntled nephews.
Looked in mam’s eyes, complaining about her trifle
Dad sitting right there, whose pay filled this table
Next when gifts were unveiled, he wailed
Saying my nephew’s plastic rifle looked fake, nothing like the real deal
He offered to nip home and fetch a real steel
For him to feel, we said we’re fine
Good he said, besides it was used in an ‘orrible crime
They were all dying at that.
He made people die with an axe way back then
He wore a wax mack jacket like it was lashing
Flashing lightning eking him out
Used to dropping acid
Melting into shadows like a slasher villain
He feigns peerless incompetence but I see ideas behind his peepers
Biting thee right cogs, whirring Dervish wheels oscillating furiously
Steam out ears, reeling in years all bluffbluster letting off steam
Gulf stream from out this caged, flesh-clothed, aged demon.
Swearing had once insane golf scores
God tier pars, before going behind bars
Where he experienced bad marrow problems that marred his arm
And arse, preventing him from either swinging hard or hitting target
He wants to know if my dad liked the trifle
Asks is he in market for a well-priced North face jacket
That fell off a pallet bound for Africa.
Alchemisland 
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