typewriter

Photo by John Williams (2009)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





Supermario Christmas

I got screws from here to here he says
running a blackened fingernail down
piss stained jeans the wheelchair
eeks like a windscreen wiper perished
by shame
his syllables strain
cracking and hissing through the
supermario you necked you recoil
from the slabs of need that drop
like a falling cliff the loathing kicks in
you want to rip off that wheelchair face
peel back the tallowed skin to
reveal the joke to the glare of pulsing
marionettes strung above on
a cable erected by council chavs wasting
council tax
but your arms turn to
toothpaste and you feel the rasp of
demon fur as it mounts your
shoulder thrusts a tongue in
your ear
happy christmas someone
slurs and the wheelchair turns
rolls away donít leave me the demon
whines in a voice just like your own and you
walk the dead walk towards someone elseís
home sit beneath the slow burn of
tree lights spend the rest of the night
unpicking the tightly knotted string of
a gold-rimmed box of after shave