Son Of A?
We were sat in a Tavern
deep into the early afternoon,
there was an old western movie
on the TV.
The film finished and Stevie
turned to me and said,
“You know, I don’t know if I’m
a son of a bitch, a son of a gun
or the son of a whore, anymore?”
I laughed into my pint,
this is why I liked drinking with Stevie.
“I’m serious man, I’m just lost,
straight up and all the way!”
I laughed into my pint again.
“Hey, I’m starting to get worried,
I’m serious, you know?”
“Yeah, I know Stevie, I’m being serious
too, welcome to the club my friend
and it’s your round!”
© Paul Tristram 2012
Thieves Will Be Prostituted
I had not seen him for a couple of years,
I had heard the rumours and they looked true.
He had lost a few stone in weight,
his face skin was gaunt and grey,
teeth missing or now just black stubs.
He was sitting on a fold-up chair
with a clipboard and pencil
wearing the florescent waistcoat
of a criminal serving his sentence
outside in the community.
He was a really talented guitarist once
but now he’s into sucking heroin’s cock again
and sat on a picnic chair outside of a public
toilet like a pervert.
He spotted me passing and scrounged a roll-up
“What’s up mate, how are you?”
“Hey, the Man got me ticking how many slag’s
go into the ‘Ladies’ and how many assholes
go into the ‘Gents’ I’ve gotta record it all down,
a little tick for each and every one!”
“Shit, why do they need to know that?
It’s a free service when you’re not in London,
they’re not checking on customers like!”
“I know but the Man’s got to find me something
to do for 3 hours a week, innit!”
I wished him luck and walked off,
it was nice to witness a messed-up scenario
that I wasn’t actually involved in, for once!
© Paul Tristram 2012
