Friday, February 9, 2018

Sitting in the front bar of the Colombian Hotel

Sitting in the front bar of the Colombian Hotel you’ve got your top unbuttoned down to your navel. You’re sitting next to a bunch of boys uninvited not staring but a look on your face deep in concentration over what they’re saying inching closer hoping one of them will notice you and say something. The boys are talking about computer games on the XBOX and your top has got cigarette holes in it and you’re not wearing a bra but your hair has been dyed blue-black by the warden so it’s not all bad.

And in walks your boyfriend through the front door and he holds up his hands “What’s going on?”

So you stand up and shout at the boys “Fuck this! I’m getting out of here, guys!”

And you run out the door and your boyfriend runs after you asking you to stop, pleading stop just stop for fucks sake but fuck that he ain’t fucken catching you.

And you come to the intersection and inconveniently the traffic is moving so you have to wait at the curb and your boyfriend is standing next to you saying come on stop I’m not going to do anything but you’re not believing that and he won’t stop talking but you’re not saying anything and he won’t stop talking and he says he isn’t going to grab you but why he’s following you and why’d he say that and the traffic won’t stop.

So you step into the traffic. You hold up your hands your palms flat hold up your hands to the drivers and you mouth please please please don’t run over me and you walk over the Taylor Square junction weaving through the cars which aren’t stopping not exactly but not running you over. And it’s a good trick it stopped your boyfriend chasing you. But then the fucken lights go red and the traffic stops and so much for that he’s crossing the intersection. So past the sleazy faggot bookshop you turn right into a side street maybe too quick for your boyfriend to see and down the laneway to a house and, No not a dead end what a debacle. And you turn ‘round the fucken boyfriend is there on Oxford Street standing and staring and pleading and going stop running pleading.

Then the red cop car pulls up and you sit down on the garden wall in front of the house and stay very still. The cop car is waiting at the lights and the cops haven’t seen you yet and your boyfriend turns around and sees the cop car and you fucken hope to god he doesn’t get their attention like last time and take you back to prison you are god.

And you’re thinking you preferred it when your boyfriend had short hair he was a good person when he had short hair, maybe he should be an ex-boyfriend. Why is he following you why won’t he leave you alone.

And he just stands there and pulls a packet of Peter Stuyvesants out his pocket and offers you one.

And is he seriously trying to tempt you out of the cul-de-sac with a cigarette like you’re some sort of slut. That didn’t work when he tried it when you were running away from him up at Bellingen the car parked on the side of the country road you walking past the arsehole standing there but he’d been clever and trusting and fucken locked the car when you walked past you are not a slut desperate for cigarettes you are god.

The lights go green and the red car drives off and you walk down the lane and he doesn’t move and you run past and he doesn’t try to grab you this time.

And your boyfriend is gross he has sweat all over his face and he’s not a musical genius like Jimi Hendrix he’s not even your real boyfriend but he does have big balls and you remember now he was the one who would slap your pussy and every time he did it’d make you feel like you were going to vomit.

And you’re tired you need sleep you were up all night kissing. You can’t run your legs and feet ache so you walk to Taylor Square and your ex-boyfriend is following you a step behind he’s stopped talking but get a life let you live yours and thank fuck there’s a green man and you cross over and your ex-boyfriend is smoking a fucken cigarette saying “This sure is a nice cigarette” you are not a slut.

You walk over the Taylor Square intersection trying to keep him away walking fast as you can weaving through pedestrians but he keeps up stepping in front of them “I can do this all day” he fucken brags.
And the gay clubs now no point going in there you can’t slip out the back like earlier at the Kings Cross station when you took the escalator down and straight back out the other street to the Piccadilly Hotel and the fuckhead went down to the platforms and you lost him.

You turn quick 180 past the ex-boyfriend but he saw he’s really staring and can’t leave you alone and you wait at the intersection. Your ex-boyfriend stands next to you and says are we still doing this and he’s almost laughing.

 So you step into the traffic.
And your ex-boyfriend follows you and what the fuck this is so fucking dangerous and you’re over it.
The cars are kind of stopping and sadly none of them hit your ex-boyfriend.

On the curb you see the commuters at the bus stop and the bus and you run and everyone files in the front door and your push past the people stepping off and step in through the back door and sit down on an aisle seat.

But the fuckhead is staring at you so he couldn’t miss you and he runs and steps through the back door he doesn’t even have a ticket.

The doors shut and the bus drives off. There’s workers on the bus commuting home and you guess it must be five or six in the afternoon and maybe it’s Friday. Your ex-boyfriend stands in the aisle next to you. There’s no way you’re getting off the bus with your ex-boyfriend.

Please please come with me he says. And he keeps saying your name like he’s your pimp and you’re a whore. You ain’t listening and you ain’t talking and you ain’t looking at him. Can’t he see he’s embarrassing you.

The bus stops and the doors open and you turn a little and look at the back door where is the bus going. Your ex-boyfriend turns and looks too and smirks and says come on get off the bus with me. No fucken way that’s happening.

And the doors close and the bus drives off where is it going.

And he's talking again he ain’t going to hurt you come with him he wants to talk can you talk to him no way fuck that you button up your top.

The bus stops and the doors open and you turn all the way and look out the back door “Come with me” he says and you’re not in Paddington and you shout at him “You’re missing your stop!”

But the fuckhead doesn’t get off the doors close and the bus drives off where are you going.

Please come with me please come he keeps saying your name this is so embarrassing he’s sitting in the seat behind you please come with me people around you are shifting in their seats they’re not doing anything come on please please he should never grown his hair out.

At the next bus stop an ugly man in a suit before he gets off turns around and smiles and points at the bus driver and says “He can call security guards.”
But you’re not doing that because your ex-boyfriend will lie to them and they’ll get you like the time at the cinema when he called the cops and you just wanted to watch Twilight I mean you do star in the film that isn’t too much to ask why can’t they leave you alone.

The bus has gone too far now you need to get off.

Come he says come he says your name come on come on I love you fuck off what a fucken soap opera.
You need to get off this bus where are you going.

You’re not in fucken Paddington you’re certainly not in the fucken Cross you must be fucken going to fucken Marouba.

If the fucken bus even stops again please stop you’re getting off and you stand up and say “Stay away!” to your ex-boyfriend and people turn around and stare how embarrassing and your ex-boyfriend smirks and holds his hands up and you walk to the front of the bus. 

“Please stop the bus,” you ask the driver. “Someone on here is stalking me.”

And you give the driver a look that suggests you’d do anything but face the abject horror that is the back of this fucken bus.

So the driver pulls the bus up to the curb and opens the front door and you get off the bus.

And the passengers in the aisle ain’t moving and your ex-boyfriend can’t get to the front door and he shouts out “Don’t let her off!” and when he sees you’re off the bus he shouts louder “Open the back door!” And the driver stands up and says “Shut up! I will call the cops!” And your boyfriend shouts real loud “Open up the fucken back door!” and the driver throws up his hands and opens the back door and stares hands on hips and your ex-boyfriend steps off the bus.

So you step back on.

And the back door shuts and the front door shuts and your fuckhead ex-boyfriend is behind the glass shouting open open and no no no and let her off and the bus drives away and the cunt of an ex is off the bus and you’re free the bus going off to Marouba Beach and where the fuck is this bus going?

Friday, May 5, 2017

Thrum in the deep

And on the street corner
in your broke arse shoes
you ask,
'Why am I so nice?'

At the nightclub
behind the 
velvet rope
you say,
'Who is this guy?'

As your phone 
goes bong
and you're
deep in the thrum
you shout,
'I can't find my love!'

In the living room
beginning to swirl
you look at the pipe
'I gotta smoke this shit'

And you get
to the fifth
to the,
'Nah forget it'

And a pit bull 
bites your leg
you can't calm it down
it's yours
on the end
a lead

Bukowski's blue bird
is singing
from his cage
he wants 
be freed

The broken face
in the mirror
is missing teeth
and hard,
'Gee is that me?'

One time
at a Berlin club
watching the ping pong club
I drank 14 becks
and a German said,
'Mein gott, you are so drunk!'

I went to the psych ward
to see a girl
who couldn't remember
my name
and I thought,
'This is probably my fault'

I always felt 
the stories were
but on repeat
it was the poems
where he truly shone