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This account: 10/04/08 - 13/10/09
Moved! to *ARIrish
My Daily Deviations
Fried Egg Morning It's a fried egg morning
and the rain bleeds like yolk
past this windowscape of pedestrian indifference.
It's ten past eight
and I'm smoking myself sober,
watching the steam condense.
It's a fried egg morning
across from the Laundromat,
where the spin cycles hypnotise
recovering drunks.
Fat sizzles behind the counter
as the waitress serves up
greasy sausages to some washed-out old punk.
It was a hard night, that's for sure,
catching my kip on the train,
with a newspaper blanket and the stale smell of beer.
stumbling half-blind through the grey dawn
to linoleum and formica
and that slow 'good-morning sugar' atmosphere.
Sunk
16 Radio Poems 1.
Invaluable advice from the radio:
Buy your girlfriend a wicker dog.
2.
Our next caller is Frank,
who wants to know why
love is so destructive,
music has gotten so bad,
and we're not living in space yet.
He also requests 'Hungry Like The Wolf'.
3.
In the passenger seat
we go by a church,
and I know neither the name
of the road, or the song,
but we both like it.
'It's probably someone awful,'
you say, nodding your head,
and I agree, nodding mine
in time.
4. (remembering Pacific Radio Fire)
On the landing, I watched us
in the mirror,
reading.
Side by side, me
with teary eyes,
hoping for the same from you.
5.
Certai
Sta.sh
