flat.fish.flesh

He’s doing that big booty, skinny leg and hoping, goose step, in deliberately provocative straight lines, too & fro, right there in front of this bench. Damn annoying in this cold weather.

I have finally found a thing I can’t find
& I’ve sought high and low for stuff of it’s kind.
Went searching for summer, discovered it fine,
and I bump into rock stars, film Gods, all the time.

So it must’ve been fantasy thought that I had
that made me trust our town would give all it had,
for they are too fancy to palm from the start
because London folk never took them to heart.

Blisters bubble down inside me,
waiting for their chance to open,
readying to burst out over
all my pinky white complexion.

Blisters ripen into ripples,
spreading out across my fingers,
swelling, popping, preparing to
cause me great affliction.

Bastards take the bus each morning,
all their boots & bags & bargains
clutter up the aisles and doorways,
annoying me to much distraction.

These peanuts have just reminded me of one late clear skied summer evening towards the end of a highlands holiday, when the pub’s policy was too strict to allow my brother & I to sit indoors so, as our parents drank inside, we waited by the car, eating the peanuts that they had brought out to us.

Aka scabby hand, aka nose pickers claw, aka finger filth, aka 1 handed typing, aka gacky mit, aka lefthanding…