I first met him
one early morning
at the front door to the apartment
above the corner café
He’d come around
to fuck Suzy
cuz he knew her boyfriend
PJ
wasn’t ‘round
He was the scariest man
I’d ever
met
He’d been
in
and
out
of prison
most his life
We were shocked
when he didn’t
go back
The most recent
court case
he’d been hit
in the head
with a brick
and lifted the cocksucker’s leg up
broke the bone through skin
with his foot
He had a plate
in his jaw
from another
fight
after Race’s Day
drunk
at a bus stop
He moved in
a week later
his clothes
in three plastic bags
and his pea green
old road bike
He had
his kid's names
tattooed
over his heart
He had the darkest eyes
Even browner than yours
“Sorry about this”
He’d say about the
lump on his arm
courtesy
the black box
He told me his nickname was Rooster
because once
as a child
he’d snapped off
the chicken’s heads
in the backyard
(Turns out the epithet
was his dad’s)
He was an
amazing cook
He sharpened
the kitchen knives
and they were like bayonettes
Another time
he was shadow boxing
and punched Suzy
in the face
“You hit me in the fucking teeth!”
“Shut up cunt,
it’s over, it’s been done”
Quick before it rains
I’m robbing
this stage coach
A poet and don’t know it
Mussi, yarndi
You want to scalp me
The merlot started flowing
Things he used to say
He’d tell stories
all the time
maybe like ex-cons do
Maybe because
he was always drunk
When he found out
my grandfather
used to be a steward
at the trots
He told me
we’d ring him up
drunk
on Melbourne Cup
and ask for his tips
Coast to coast
wild Kamilaroi
wild Scot
When I got over
worry
getting smashed
he told me
he was gunna
take me out
to the pub
at ten am
and drink three
schooners
in twenty minutes
to start the day
But I never did
On my lunch break
from work
he was smoking hydro
and drinking port
I had a beer
but couldn’t do
the smoke
He could barely stand up
When he wasn’t drunk
he was quiet
We’d sit in the loungeroom
smoking White Ox
and Peter Stuys
He had an old,
wise laugh
We’d watch the Ashes
and he knew about the
cricket
“He’ll bowl a cutter.
Next,
he’ll bowl
off. OK,
boy,
now get this white cunt out!”
A mix cd
I thought I’d
write
a story
using his lingo
But I keep
thinking about
him
still
all these years
I love him
So I’m glad
I didn’t do that
He ain’t ‘round
he’s out there
somewhere
He’s gone now
so I’ll stop
talking about him
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