Surprise Visit
My frame bares a terrible guest
His knuckles are crusted and he cannot
speak with his whole chest
A fullness frosts my company’s canon
Happiest in savagery- he cocks
His tired fingers like a handgun
But bulletproof- I’ve had to kill him
And wash myself of all that’s in him
His eyes are coined
I’d liken it to spring- if you could redeem
That washed out thing
I see him still, but much distilled
And opened a door to a different theme
Lost Men of the West
Raw hands gripped the bars of his bike,
I’d liken it to a newborn clinging on for dear life.
And always managed to strap the ruffled sack to the behind
What lacks the plastic levy but surely the nine-fifty he will find
A bottle of impending death and seven up,
No sooner had he reached me and there was medicine in cup
Thank you, dear, out passed the dissonant queue of bold women with bare nails
scratching- twins.
Three men who’d smoke you to a pinch.
I’ll be recalling it with a heavy heart when I see you river bound and parked.
No hope for the lost boys- nor home nor hearth.
WORDS: Kate Ryan
