Wedding Song

It is de day of my weddin
an me fadder, im lookin nervous.
An I wonder what it is on im mind.

‘You okay, Papi? You lookin nervous
or sumtin. It’s not Reggie, is it?’

Im smile and im say nah,
dis day is blessed.
Because you an ya man
‘ave my blessins.

And den I tink about
all dem boys who nevah did,
‘ow my daddy brought fya
to dem yard.

And I is curious.
And I ask him.
You remembah all dem boys -
dem coulda beens -
who you chased away?

An im cut from his nerves
an im smile at me, an say
“Girl, I remembah....”

*****

De first guy mi Sunshine evah
brought back to me,
I took im to de garden,
an I said, “Dis is me garden.
Nice, innit?
I consider it my place
to keep the weeds
in check.

Weeds ave dere place in de gran scheme
but I got me one special sunflower
to protec.

Tell me, me boy,
what sort of plant are you?
An I give im one o dem
thoughtful stares.

Im nevah come back

after dat.

An you told me,
“Daddy, why you ave to
make im scare!?
Im run away
an im nevah come back!”

Good, I thought, back den.
“Im not overstan’ im minerals;
im run away from himself -
not from me, or you.”
No sweat.

*****

De secon’ man she evah brought back,
im was older. 

I pour us a drink
and I ask im 
while we was sippin dat good
dark rum with ice,
“What are your intentions
with my daughtah.”

Im give me dat usual talk.
Im no say dat 
me daughta can 
speak fe ‘erself
Im say nuttin 
remotely real.

So I nodded an I sipped and den
I look at im very deeply,
fixin im in my stare,
an I say, coolly,

“And what are your intentions
with my daughtah?”

Im wriggle in im seat
like a liccle worm
on a hook

an I kissed me teeth.
I thought, run, boy,
or come back
when you is man enough
to speak your truth
and you knowin
what you is sayin.

An you said,
“Daddy, he was not playin!
I thought he was de one!”

Ah, really? I thought.
Is that why he run?

*****

I look at my Papi
and I take his hand.
“Papi, why you always used to
scare my men away?
An what about Reggie?”

He looks me in the eye
an he begins to speak.

“I was not doin it fe myself;
I was doin dem tings for you,
all of it.

Because it is my job
to look out for you.
I didn’t want you meetin some man
who was like I was
at dat age, back den.

I know I ave to let you fly free.
I nevah want to hold onto you
cause I is scare.

You gonna fly.
And if you gonna fly,
you gonna fly
togeddah -
forever.

An you an you man gone ave
the blessin of de sun,
and de moon, and de stars,
and de sky, and from
de very bottom of my soul,
my salts.

You found im now.
I can see im love you.

You go fly, my pretty sweet darlin.
Thru time an space an love.
An you show your liccle birds
how to touch de sky.”

Drug

You’d pull up home
around 5.30
and my little heart
would freeze.

I’d hear the car pull up
and turn in to park.

I’d hear the sound
of the tyres, then
the handbrake,
then the engine, turning off.

After 10-15 seconds of silence
I’d hear the door open
and slam shut
and I’d listen to those
ten or twenty footsteps
leading around the car,
across the pavement, and
down the steps.

The key would turn
in the door
and the calm
would fall to pieces.

The anxiety balloon
that was filling in my body
and my head
would burst.

Now, for every tenner you give me,
you might as well be handing me
the drink, ciggies and drugs 
yourself.

It’s just a good thing
I’m not the same man
as you.

It’s a good thing that
one of us was listening
to Bryan Ferry
when he sang

that love
is the drug.

Blessings

Keep it bless, breddah
Man’s got dis in the bag
Bless the sunshine, bless good weather,
Sendin blissins, fam.

Ain’t no big ting;
Don’t sweat yu back;
Take it chill, don’t get mad.
Don’t go on the attack.

Keep it cool, keep it real:
Keep your enemies very close.
If you gotta do dis, keep it fya,
but just a little dose.

Witching Hour

I saw you on the dance floor

dancing by yourself,

as if you the music was for you only,

making love to your body.

I took a few slugs

bided my time and orbited you

like a satellite,

hoping you’d see me as your moon.

We grew closer to each other

with the gravity of feeling;

our feet were on the ground,

our minds were on the ceiling.

You started grinding on me

and I caught your scent;

I was like a tiger.

I wanted you in bed.

We were circling so close now,

your hair gently brushed my cheek.

My lips were near your neck now;

you quivered as you spoke.

You took me by the hand

and we fled and hailed a taxi.

You said, ‘Shakespeare Street, drive’

and we were kissing in the back seat.

And my hand inched up your leg

to the peak of your desire;

you were a mountain,

I was the climber.

We tumbled into the sheets

and we rose 

inwards and outwards

like the moon-pulled sea.

We slept for a while,

I awoke and from my wing

I plucked a single feather,

held it gentle in my hand.

I brushed your inner thigh,

lightest touch, awakening you;

then I inhaled, descended, gulped deeply.

I kissed your body like the land.

Off the Rails

Keep the wheels greased

keep the line clear

keep the good fuel in the engine

and keep some spare.

Don’t burn it too quickly

and keep your eyes facing front;

don’t look backwards or sideways

not even for a dare.

Watch the skies and see the mountains,

keep the passengers’ bellies full.

Don’t give thought to mutinies

don’t panic when the cord is pulled.

Pay your journeymen well:

give them smokes and liquor.

Keep your cabin lady chill,

don’t ever bicker.

Let your best man watch whilst you’re sleeping,

glide smoothly open sail.

Stay aware but keep on dreaming.

Don’t go off the rails.

Poor Boy

Soaking in shame,
toking in vain,
set in fear
like a jelly, inane,
convulsive and pallid,
sweat dripping and
the stench was blame.

Fear aswirl all round my head,
memories of lies and
a piss-riden bed.
Torn apart between people,
feeling like a dog’s toy;
looking up to broken men,
O, what a poor boy.

Cigarette ash trays
and half-empty bottles;
social club nights
and passenger seats, full-throttle.
Fights and sights and
bellyaches.
And ruptures so small
that seemed like earthquakes.

Bowls full of salted peanuts -
“there’s twenty men’s urine on those”.
Put on a smile,
cheer up, come on: pose!
Christmas with violence
and Easters of binge.
Always wanting to be a king,
but I never was a prince.

Circled by fretful women,
their friends who were protectors.
Then straight back in the lion’s cage:
it’s feeding time, deflect this.
Bullets that went skin deep,
buckshot to the body.
The neighbours’ cats would fight all night.
I’d wake up feeling sorry.

Baths of bubbly water
and lying down, nose above the surface,
or lying, back against the cold porcelain,
putting a wet flannel upon my face
and practising breathing -
beneath the water, fanning out, my hair,
and listening to the muffled sound of my voice.
I’d hold my breath and count to ten
then come up for air.

School was a heavy sentence;
some teachers’ smiles were golden.
But others had mouths full of
sneers and teeth like jagged grains of rice,
their gaze would fix you frozen.
Playground fights and fairground lights
and rides that left you reeling
and lying in the darkness
staring at the ceiling.

Count one breath, two breaths, three - ten.
Breathing in the fleeting joy
before the pain washed over again.
O my, O my, what a poor, poor boy.

My Truth

I’ve always been terrified of people,

never knowing who to trust.

I’ve always seen the worst in people,

and thought in God we rust.

I’ve never really put myself out there

because it’s cold going out on a limb.

And when I inevitably got knocked back,

I never learned to take it on the chin.

So I practised wearing masks and doing voices

and I practised striking many a pose -

even though I don’t like the music of Madonna 

and can’t stand that fucking awful Vogue.

There are so many places I could have been to,

so many friends I could have met along the way,

so many lovers’ names I could’ve carved into my arms,

so many beaches where I could’ve holidayed.

But I chose to keep myself within a box then

and curl myself away in all my hurt;

somehow I felt safer bumming in my socks when

I should’ve been brave and wore that shirt.

Now I see the many years I wasted,

squatting in a den that reeked of fear.

All I have to do is pick myself up now,

see the truth, dust the shoulders, face the years.