First and Worst – Love Triptych (Dan)
my first attempts to write poetry that didn’t rhyme. From the late 80s. Surprising how little has changed stylistically (in particular, I was as fascinated by the physical act of time passing as I am now). I would point out that I was absolutely NOT abused as a child. For some reason, as a teenager, the subject fascinated me, like it did all middle-class arrogant little shits in my class. Like Daisy, it would appear from the second that as a teenager I wrote about prostitutes. Next time I’ll be brave enough to post my even earlier doggerel.
Love is between two people and no one else,
Love is having secrets
that I’d only tell my doll when he’s not there.
Love is not being alone at night.
Love is turning out the light.
Love is when my room smells of him,
Love’s his fingers on my skin.
Love is something I can choose to avoid when I grow up.
your Max Factor cherry lipstick
your patent leather mini skirt
your bic disposable
a packet of three
waiting in the rain
late night talk shows
a porno in its brown paper bag
coffee and cigarettes
the smell of your perfume
your black lace knickers on the floor
all of the above and nothing more.
Watching the shadow creep across the floor,
lurching past the rug, inching up the wall.
The sun skulks away;
everything is drained and blue.
Tick tick. Tick tick.
Waiting. Sharp breaths beat in rhythm.
Tick tick huh. Tick tick huh.
Ears watching the corner of the door
waiting for the creek of light to crawl across the ceiling.
Waiting for daddy to say goodnight.
Tick huh tick huh. Tick huh tick huh.
Sitting in the cold wet sweat
thinking, hoping, knowing.
Tick tick. Tick tiock. Click click.
Shoes. The metal click of daddy’s work shoes.
Time to say goodnight.
(damn “now” me wants to cut those two last lines – the completely dissipate things)