Get Out Of My Tarot Readings, Bitch!
Jesus Christ, I thought dumping
your ass would be enough.
But Oh No, you’re still everywhere.
Stalking my karma,
Guilting my mornings,
Ghosting my nights
and generally kurbashing
my sanity and peace of mind.
I think I am going to need a priest,
if not to exorcise you
then so I can punch him
to relieve some of this fucking stress!
I haven’t a clue what I’m doing anymore?
I paid £20 last night for a clairvoyant
to sit opposite me with smug smile
on her magical and mysterious face and say
“She’s not gone yet, you know!”
“That’s it, I’m emigrating,
Going Back to Prison,
Changing my fucking name,
It’s time that I put my foot down
with a firm hand!”
I yelled, walking home
with your shadow mocking me
from behind.
© Paul Tristram 2013
Vegas One Time
She lucks the lights
and pulls onto Flamingo
as I finger the Black Derby
upside down in my lap.
I have bought 13 hats in 14 days,
this is my new favourite.
She deals with the concierge, again
while I turn away
and let the first few lines of a new poem
lap dance me softly.
Up to the 9th floor then
where she runs the tub for us
as I undress by the window
watching a small aeroplane
fly low over the early evening
of Las Vegas.
I notice the sand from the Mojave Desert
upon her feet
as I slide around her into the water.
Hitting the jets, I sit back with a sigh
as the hot water pumps around me,
going in and out of my tattooed fingers
and through my porcelain white toes.
She presses play upon the ipod
and the ‘Stereophonics’
‘The Bartender And The Thief’
comes on nice and loudly.
With a freshly opened bottle of claret
she steps in besides me with a smile.
“We did it baby, we did it!” she sighs
holding her hand next to mine,
letting our wedding rings
dance together
like little beautiful, sparkling miracles.
© Paul Tristram 2012
