(Thisis a prose poem, sort of. Based on "Povel" by Geraldine Kim)
there
is dirty cutlery in the sink. it isn’t mine.
i take it out
in order to put my water dispenser in the sink and fill it from a machine worth 4k.
i don’t tell anyone else in the house the machine is worth 4k.
i have a new love.
i drink a ginger tea. there is homework to do, food to
be bought, a bicycle to
be cycled to get there.
i look at
facebook. there is a war somewhere and a man who looks like an
umpa-
lumpa going to kill us all. my laptop has
been switched on for months now.
i expect the battery is being ruined. my new love
whatsapps me.
i have homework to do,
i say. at least
i only have 1 love at the moment. my life if extraordinary but mundane.
one of the
romanian guys comes back and puts lots of
dead chicken in a large pan and puts it on the cooker. word corrects all my
i’s tells me
i am spelling and
gammaring badly. imagine that.
i
decide to trim my beard as
i am
starting to look like
bukowski. not a good look. and he’s dead. in the week
i saw the exorcist. on stage.
peter bowls was in it, a proper
luvie said my love, who is an actor. she should know then.
he was
old fashioned in his delivery, we knew, me and
her, wink
wink.
i upload another poem blog to
youtube.
i expect it will get 6 views. worth it! sort of. probably should go buy some food. or
whatsapp. or do homework. or write a poem. or
whatsapp a poem to my love.
routine bites hard. as
i make a coffee once
i wake. maybe
i don’t want it but my addiction does.
i’ll have to force some breakfast down after.
the radio is quiet with the dial locked to
radio 4 extra. how boring. repeats of the goons.
the navy
lark. oh how tedious. there is homework to do. and reading. it won’t get done to the goons.
emotions won’t grow. in a tiny room. stuffed up against the screen. on a cramped chair. no view but there is the sound of aeroplanes taking off. it’s time to exercise and expand the muscles. or keep the heart going. lest
i pop the clogs. maybe less coffee and more eating would help. or nuts.
i eye the packet of mixed nuts. maybe another cuppa.
perhaps the heating will
be fixed soon. still, who is alone with a
duvet. and a packet of mixed nuts. and a copy of
bowie’s let me sleep beside you. and a water machine worth 4k. at the
weekend I wake at
6. homework.
webdesign. the
internet has stopped. all work stops but for my word document. lucky and unlucky. letting down my customer but getting homework done. my 24 inch monitor as a dead browser window and a live word window. frustrated. soon
i need to go get my son and entertain him for the day.
i sip at my coffee and gaze at the dead internet. my love is living in
coventry. probably just
as well.
webdesign, homework, son, my love, repeat.
i try to think of wonderful things. all non-starters
i guess. an ex-lover sends me a video on
whatsapp
that she thinks is amusing.
lol. whatever. rolls my eyes. must get some breakfast down me and go meet my son.
the internet: dead as a dodo.
the website
i’m working on is confusing me.
it
was never supposed to be this hard. my degree is confusing
me, it
was never supposed to be this hard.
i have a poem my
tom leonard in front of me. ye ken?
i should have been
scottish me,
i already have the lingo, two words. or
spanish,
i know at least two words there. my lover speaks
spanish like a local. she’s got more brains than me. but our bond is not mundane.
i even know dirty words in dutch. if we weren’t destroying the planet and all life modern times would be great.
fucking insanity. we fight backwards and forwards like nutters.
sometimes those words come out of my mouth. crazy words. there is a pigeon near us, son goes on and on about it. at bank looking at the tube map, all exciting names, all boring places, all the same, nowhere is different, same bricks, houses, shops, streets,
same old stuff.
