September serenade

By John Francis

Panic, why not panic?

blue suit crumpled in a chair

lined by scattered magazines

of debs and society junkies.

He gathered up the day

and went towards the door.

Remember turn the gas off,

mustn’t kill the budgie.

Lines of people in the street

lined and scarred with waiting.

Ticket jammed ,driver’s wrath

passengers asleep.

Revolving door, a smiling face

gone at once and not remembered.

Desk at angles to the light,

coffee waiting ,cold by now.

Talking,always talking,

faceless men shuffling papers

leering at the new pa,

fidgeting for lunch.

Flip board, even more statistics

sales are down,

down ,down,

down we go

Ho ho ho

and here we are;

the basement mortals

spewing mud.

.

Mop the floor

your tears are there.

Do you know

there’s biscuits in the hall……….

Threnody

by John Francis

unwanted doll

legs crossed

lies frozen

in the grass.

Dead images

of picture books

drift by

a limestone quay.

The child is gone now,

cries no more

as scattered clothes

hide till receipts.

She enters like

a night intruder

craving bread and jam;

my plea is silent.

The pond’s still there,

the frogs and toads

cannot trace

her ancestry.

We sometimes visit

crystal islands

where she played;

she then resumes

her life today.

I see her smile

and think of rows

of crawling wooden trains.

A man comes in

and takes my child;

he smiles at me

as if he knows.

he carries her

by infant sleep

to buildings where

my soul exists.

She tells me

she is safe now

like a spirit

free in devachan.

I tend the grave;

a seed has sprouted.

Soon the chasm

hosts a tree.

my hands escape

the winter bite,

coat pockets

grip my thighs.

I cannot feel

the tiny fingers,

footsteps, vanish

in the snow.

Box No.

by John Francis

Cyber woman

inbox  full,

she’s so busy

on the pull.

Voicemail packed

message saved,

she’s bi-curious;

pubis shaved.

Likes group sex

if you’re willing,

swingers chatrooms

make a killing.

Say goodbye

I’ll text you later,

got to meet

a flagellator.

Dead of night

her mind is still,

don’t forget

the morning pill.

At one

by John Francis

Shudder with the music

rot away the brain.

Shift another fuckin track

to listen on the train.

Spit dem lyrics

get dat shit,

got no time

got no rhyme

to bus it

Sort a tenz

snort a line

when you got bear squilla blud

everything’s just fine

All gravey blud

all gravey get me

gotta tear

gotta breeze.

Manz all vexed bro

bitch is dead;

got blitzed in N15 enz

bullet in her head.