Coming To A Street Near You
by
Mike Watts
Published by Night Publishing, Smashwords edition
Copyright 2010, Mike Watts
ISBN 978-1-4523-2395-4
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All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental.
To discover other books by Mike Watts, please go to http://www.nightpublishing.com/id44.html.
30 Seconds Later
I met fear today.
A ball-shrinking ordeal
Of dark confrontation
Blocking my way.
A street predator,
Six foot of cold blood,
An un-muzzled,
Dog-faced bastard
Held a blade
To my cheek.
My tongue collapsed -
I couldn't speak.
Then he demanded,
This alien
That had landed
Before me -
'Phone, cash, jewellery'.
His gorgon stare
Rooting me,
His dirty fingers
Looting me,
Invading,
Degrading me
And then suddenly
The inches between us
Became a mile
And for a while
I was alone.
No jewellery, no cash,
No phone.
It's six hours later
And I'm at home.
Face in my hands,
Empty cans
Crushed on the floor.
I hate myself
For being a victim,
For feeding him,
For not resisting.
It’s been six hours.
Then a fist hits
The door
And I let the police in.
This Is Not A Love Poem
No
She didn’t
Punch
A hole through
My breast bone,
Rip out
My still beating heart
And then volley it
Out of sight
Somewhere.
Because
Despite the whispers,
It didn’t happen
Like that.
And no,
I am not a broken
Soul,
Curled like a foetus
On a mattress
Stained
With moments
That burn
Behind
My eyes
Like an awful
Memory.
Because
Despite the blows,
I’m not that
Feeble.
Of course
It was hard,
But I’m still
Breathing.
Look,
I never wanted
Compassion.
I never wanted words
Of wisdom,
Some contented voice
Telling me
That there are
Oceans,
With millions
For me to choose
From.
I wanted
Nothing
Except
To be left
To drink
…Alone!
Only time sorts
Rubbish
Like this out,
You know that.
After all,
Some of you have
Probably
Been there
Yourself
And whilst your
Story may
Have been slightly
Different from
Mine,
Things did get better.
Didn’t they?
Debbie
At school, fat Debbie was the joke,
Whose only friends were crisps and coke,
Who invited buns and bags of chips,
To settle on her arse and hips.
Which gave nothing in return,
Just calories she couldn’t burn.
So Debbie cried and Debbie grew,
Like the bullied sometimes do,
Because every time we were rotten,
Food made it all forgotten.
Kids are kids - you know the crack;
They find your weakness – then attack!
But what I’m building up to say
Is I saw Debbie the other day,
As I stepped into a lottery queue,
‘Hiya Mike, how are you?’
I held my jaw, about to pass,
‘It’s Debbie; I was in your class.’
Debbie, Debbie … then it struck me;
Big fat Debbie? It can’t be!
A swift scan up and down,
Delivered a pony tail, blondie – brown,
Greenish eyes, rich full lips,
A completely different arse and hips.
‘Alright Deb, long time no see!’,
(Careers’ office ’83)
And I bet during all that time
She’s probably lived down a street near mine.
Anyway, Debbie gave a girl some money
Then crossed her fingers as she passed me.
And I, (a former member of those little shits
Who’d kicked her self esteem to bits)
Bought three lucky dips and went home,
Straight in and on the phone.
‘Hey, do you remember Debbie …
That’s right, the ugly cow.
I’ve just seen her – she’s beautiful now!’
I Confess
Coming home one Friday night,
Scranning burgers and half pissed,
Me and a mate stopped to talk to three prossie’s,
All smoking in the doorway of a charity shop.
“What would I get for a quid?”,
My mate said, belching and flicking onion
Off his shirt.
“You can scrape this shit off me shoe”,
Said a ginger skinny piece,
With lips like two cig papers
And tits like boiled eggs.
“What about a fiver?” said my mate again,
Still concentrating on his grub.
Nobody answered.
“A tenner?” said my mate, looking up.
“I'll give you a wank”,
Said this tasty, oriental-looking bird,
With long black hair and a fantastic arse
Tucked into tight white jeans.
"We all fuck for thirty," said ginger skinny,
Raking through her bag.
“UGLY COW!” said my mate
“FUCK OFF!” they all replied, ginger skinny
Wiggling her little finger,
I saw tasty oriental about a fortnight later,
Doing her lipstick in the same shop doorway.
I confess to missing my catalogue that month.
Talk About Lucky
I’ve just bought a scratch card
And won 200 pound
From a quid that I’d found
Outside the gaff of a woman
I’d met in a bar.
She owned an Off-licence,
She drove a 40 grand car.
She took me to this restaurant,
Greek, I think,
Order what you want, she said,
Then it’s back to mine for a drink,
If you fancy it?
‘FANCY IT!’ Does a bear shit
In the woods?
It was mental, what a laugh,
Spraying champagne as we splashed
In the bath,
Then into bed, with another bottle
Where I climbed aboard
And gave it full throttle
Screaming revs, as our hips
Cut loose,
An all night joyride,
Until I ran out of juice!
It was too warm to move
So we used a sock,
Then we crashed out until 9 o’clock
I made a coffee, she took a shower
Then we sat and talked bollocks
For an hour
She threw me out about half ten
And I knew I’d never see her again,
But, hey, fair do’s
I couldn’t give a fuck
I’m not complaining
I rode my luck
And she was amazing
But to round it off with this,
A 200 quid scratch card,
Now that’s taking the piss.
Don’t Ever Use The ‘P’ Word
Besides the bar staff,
We were the only two faces