good man the laal-tain

spent a while in a
cold cold cell
listening to tom waits in his spare time
never had much money to speak of
though he spoke of it
sometimes often in a
nonchalant sort of way
which fooled most everybody
but her nibs

lady la-di-da in a past life
if she ever owned up to it
which she didn't
despite the mounting mountains
of evidence he laid at her feet
every chaudhveen ka chand
or every excuse he got
and every chance he didn't take
preferring to lie low
in anticipation
without daring to go sharing himselves
with any aira ghaira nathoo khaira
whom they might give away
the game for a bottle of cheap plonk
and/or a chance at redemption

silently
occasionally slow
once fast
though he swore aft
erwards off forever
such frivolity was for the birds
man for the birds
and as far as he could see he didn't
stay so thoroughly nourished
on birdseed
nor could he recollect frank
(zappa or wild years) ever breathing
a word of it to him

couldn't buy himselves love not
for sale even x-mas season pre-shopping
time which was a time for introspection
amongst himselves
which was the one thing they (he) were good at

not that she cared
daddy only ever cared
about her grades
and be a woman
be a somebody
not a nobody like
your old man who's
an old man
an old-fashioned man
a good man the laal-tain
a man who can still
ban
in his own mind
ban the bums
who sneak their insidious way
into your heart ("er that would be
my pants, daddy") and ain't that
what panties are for?
to be got inside

ma ki chut as a
mixed metaphor for
life-threatening
boy dare i say friends?
too clued up on virtual
bubblegum and mountains
of freshly mown grass
freshly mown into their
tired eyes which open up
one at a time
trying to find the other
roving in some far distant
corner of the eastern rim
of the spiral nebula

(minos - june 2007)