Bob – Writing

Saturday, writing with Dean and Michael. What luxury to have this space in which to find the words to describe this time. I have not found it since. Trust in Dean and Michael, happy to be amongst strangers.

What a marvellous pursuit
to wail out loud
(like they do in Iran
full body, full black)
and weep
down the high street
of halesworth or life
for the loss of a friend
and not put a lid on it,
send out polite emails.
But open the heart.

On those mad occassions, when I forgot attack never opens, but closes, I’d call him a beached whale . We moved at different rates.  More like an arm chair. Static yes, but constant in its envelope. Sturdy, undistracted, focused. Latterly I thought the chair was too needy of a form. I’d busy myself around, avoiding it’s eyes. What I didn’t know was how I needed to know the chair was there, and even god for bid, it’s supporting form. Oh how I wish I’d sat down opposit him and talked. My room of life empty, lost it’s gravity.

Because I had Georgian furniture, a bit of money and good tits. Bob’s declared reasons for liking me. He was as persistent as an organo-chlorine. I gave in, in a Norfolk single bed. Because of his persistence, like shit to a blanket (one of bobs favourite expressions) never let go.

Because I was, yet again, a late developer, I came to children too late. I’d run out of eggs, despite Bob’s above average sperm count – of which he was so proud.

Because you read my diaries, you said you got to know me more

Clarendon Road

One bedroomed, that was it’s limitation. Not encouraging of guests, although many came.
I moved into share that top floor space, a bedroom with balcony over a Nottinghill park.
Clarendon Road days, stepping stones to India days.
Renting to City girls with ball gowns.
Returning in the late spring summer, Apple blossom like confetti on the pavements roads. Julies bar, L’artist Asoufe. Pip.

Tailor Made

After a time we’d stop
You’d sit upon a rock
An into the Himalayan air
Exhale the smoke of your
tailor made cigarette
And cough.

Giving up

We started giving up when we met
Walking Wainrights Coast to Coast
Day 3 down form Helvellen we threw away
Roll ups, Tailor mades
And, sometimes ratty,
walked on into our life together

In Russia we gave up
the giving up.
Surrendering with vodka nights
Singing Beetles songs
Keeping mosquitoes and a future at bay
In the face of such a momentous past

Week 4, on Champix, 25 years on
In one of your contented no smoking times
which may or many not have passed,
You died. So I went out
Got and rolled and smoked
a Golden Virginia Light
Uninterested in a future now
which will pass.

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