college nights and days
standing on the edge of
the barricade rain falling on his shoes
3am petrol station lights
laughter in the alleys
the mathematician fucking the rich kid
up against Mary Blaine
beloved wife and mother / b.1863 – d.1937
doormen gathering sirens
she was half in love on the avenue
leaning boy with man’s hands / chrome wheels
relax, don’t do it the late-bar
dying with the hour
late november fog curling round the carparks
and warehouses like clenched fists
streets waking up garlic mayo under finger nails
hypnotic jangle of fruit machines
medium or large?
no taxis / no jackets / blowing air into blueing hands
what you lookin at lad?
temples breath guts anus
all in bits
fall asleep cock in hand
headphones in
her face with him
alarm alarm alarm MOTHER alarm MOTHER
you were late
undulating country roads hedges scraping / whipping windows
bloody traffic lights every single one
no texts the emptiness of it all
stripping his insides
sausage barm no sauce
everyone fucked
she appears from somewhere deep inside of him
this town is cancerous she whispers
rolled-up cigarette / expresso
purple-yellowed eye half way between exhaustion and submission
did he do it? i don’t ask
(he’s somewhere in the canteen)
a thick black knitted jersey hanging fleshless shoulders
flakes of skin like flies trapped in bulky yarn
scatty hair / barb-wire knots / gnawed nails
beautiful
pool balls click the notice says no tobacco
in the common room she rolls another
stooges on the jukebox
the cure on the jukebox
did you see the graffiti? she forces smiles
legs crossed / twitchy
by him? i do say it I do say it
drilling in the walls two middle-aged overalls grin
they’ve picked the ones they’d love to screw
yeah she mouths by him
Paul Robert Mullen is a poet, musician and sociable loner from Liverpool, U.K. He has three published poetry collections: curse this blue raincoat (2017), testimony (2018), and 35 (2018). He also enjoys paperbacks with broken spines, and all things minimalist.
Twitter: @mushyprm35