Closing Time

Scum-walled glasses
on tide-lined table;
a strife-raft of waste
drawing drained pretences.
Faces not set to defrost
in a corner of the bar.

A wince from rented
fermented probes
and peanut-teeth:
too many snacks
filled in the gaps
of this one-night squat.

He spiders a tattoo
on an aching pocket.
She piss-fakes a retreat -
not running the risk
of getting hooked
at closing time.

Up close.

The atlas of him unfolds
across ice-blue screens:
continental limbs drift;
country-lapels stretch, crease;
mountain range features relieve
an isobarred forehead.

We watch. Eyes deafen.
Truth is nighted.
Only lightening strikes of
- stutter -
- blink -
- nose-rub -
flash-betray his Touretted emotions.

Finger discomfort,
(the sticky palm),
or tongue greasy words
and the trance could be cracked.
But the one-eyed man winks
and with a tug of his cuff
redraws the borders.

Just me and you.

Nothing to do with days,
with years, with lives:
death happens out of time
- you shift about, within, me -
but in place
and fixes the space
fast - too fast, too slow. To
- but not about these rooms -
believe in nothing is hard:
no comfort in truth;
feels like a frigid
- our dust, our house -
betrayal of you.
Despite the word
you made me give.

^

Biography

Since starting writing poetry in November 1999, I've had poems published/accepted by: - Magazines: Electric Acorn, Envoi, Staple, The Rue Bella, The Affectionate Punch, Coffee House, Iota, Pennine Ink, Krax, First Time, Lateral Moves, Breathe, Psychopoetica and Aabye's Baby. - Anthology: One World (Aural Images)