GO Bus back to Hunter

we all die
it’s a fact of life
there’s no such thing as ‘before’
it’s simply time and how much we’re allotted.

she blew me a kiss as she was walking to the bus stop
i was inside the car it was raining
my time was coming to an end

she looked both ways before crossing the road
knew enough to bring an umbrella

and just after she blew me that one final kiss

she opened her purse and dropped the tiny gun within

while i was dying inside the car
out here in the rain
my car wasn’t completely off the road

and standing at the bus stop she watched
while rain fell off the umbrella

while

rain streaked down the driver side window
while I coughed inside

she watched me the entire time
suffering
and when the bus pulled up
she stopped watching

the bus pulled away
and she was no longer there

it was just me
and the rain

the car not completely off the road
but far enough into the ditch

still

i hit the 4-way blinkers
hoping time was on my side

just long enough for someone else to
notice….


Listening to the Local Radio from the Cottage

we aren’t Toronto
we aren’t Ottawa
we aren’t even Kingston for God’s sake

dude –

– i think inside my head

i’ve been through smaller
and same sized towns
only 20 minutes down the water from you
with a rich downtown core revitalized
full sidewalks with shoppers
providing a lifestyle people want to live

damn –

– i think inside my head

you’re not even Napanee
you’re not Gananoque
you’re not even Wolfe Island

– so for Gawds sake

dude –

don’t even try to utter your town name alongside

Toronto
Ottawa
Kingston

you can’t do battle with these big towns
you can’t do battle with the proud smaller towns

you’re too busy doing battle inside your own
and getting nowhere
except closer to the end of the road
the Bay water moving up past your knees

– i think inside my head


because the electric starter usually quits before August

Summer is beautiful
all those unwanted poems help light the BBQ.
we flame baseball steaks to perfection
tin foil potatoes and onions with butter.
Summer is beautiful
all that propane and briquettes
properly smoking the supper hour.
the newer BBQ’s can’t achieve that same flavour
not without the briquettes. all you get is
fire


don’t get too close

in a sort of
kiss my ass moment

dress hiked
rocking horse in background
coffee on the round table
morning in the window

returning to the bathroom after a quick smoke

in a sort of
actress in a saloon

water/oil in jar waving in front of the shadow light
caught in the brown hues and silhouette hovering over wooden floor
stand Ziegfeld still and let the cowboys
allow the soldiers – to cheer wildly

in a sort of murderous moment
putting the red dress back down
stepping over the body and leaving the house

morning has come
the coffee is becoming cold

the day isn’t getting any younger….


in the wonder of it all

violence is absolute
purpose serving solitude
beautiful in a moral stripping way
breathing chaos into a quiet mind

the expressionless kind
the job filled
duty kind

punching a clock
drinking a beer
talking nothing about the 8hr shift

while you lay there
in the apartment
semi- conscience

your belongings destroyed
your furniture searched
your body investigated with a flash light

there’s an almost medical feel to it
as though the doctor told you to cover up again

but the work day is through
two men sit on bar stools at McGafferty’s
and they wait on further orders

you lay on the floor
wonder who to call
and who not to tell

lost in the violent wonder of it all…


an old story with no back door

keep loading baby
they won’t be long settin’ fire to this cabin
we gotta keep firin’ to keep ’em from gettin’ too close

and she’s in a yellow dress
thinkn’
baby i didn’t sign on for this when i said
let’s make a life together

his teeth are baring
jaw muscles in hate firin’ live rounds
wood framin’ a busted window

she’s duckin’ at every whip-o-will sound
loading guns at each one set down
she’s wonderin’ about the drapery and importing new glass

keep loading baby
it’s the only time she hears his ‘g’
wishin’ gee – couldn’t you just farm like my pappy

but

that’s what drew her to him
the outlaw refusin’ to conform
now they’re outside of town – inside their own coffins

keep loading baby
they’re gettin’ closer baby
baby – she thinks – just surrender – i wanna go home….


Man Woman or Beast

all the cedar and vines
wrap around the rib cage in an unattended garden jungle
wasted cigarettes
hands holding
arms covering breasts
eyes shadow the smoke sitting in this flower bed shell

you-she-it

cower
next to the abandon wall
daring onlookers to find something relatable
to the rest of society

the wall is connected to a used record store
it is connected to a factory wall
an old water works mill
where a province thought as Englishmen
uniting a city
placing glamour in even the rudimentary

but today is a throw away society
where blame is tossed and responsibility shrugged
memes placed on the window screen shout back
allowing – accepting nothing which will plant and continue growth

the vines choke rather than produce wine
the cedar trees block out the sun rather than opening into a forested city of progress

and you

puffing that cigarette
curl your body and hug your self-guarded defences
holding breast and rib

society moves sidewalks onto the streets of bandwidth
with photo-captions shouting morals
water pumps becoming crank/less
and coal piling up in decay

all
waiting for a good
fire


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