Selective Memory

When you knock

the righteous chip on your shoulder

and it sends you flying

it is only me who notices

your stumble, or

maybe everyone else

just can't believe it happened.

So they delete as is appropriate

to their choice of perception

of the events in question.

Why I Deleted My Facebook

I won't do a quiz on which member of The Saturdays I'm more like
Not will I plant fake crops and rear pretend pigs on farmville
I won't make friends with that tramp that won't speak to me at school
just so some guy she's after can see that lots of people think she's cool.

Nor will be "become a fan" of some band of skinny jeaned
roly smoking, scruff bags who mince round my school
pulling sickies to go to sick bay and slyly wank
while waiting for the final bell.

I don't want people who've never spoke to me
to know what my favourite books or films are
and I won't have anyone posting photos of me
falling drunkenly out of some shit bar.

That I only went to because it was that
or stay at home and go on Facebook like a twat.

Worm

My friend is a worm

he lives at the bottom

of a bottle of tequila.

He is unstoppable

leaves a trail of shit behind him

but the girls all love him

even when they see him

standing up alleys saying

"smell the fish"

and waving his index finger

and middle finger together

a gloating gesture

the smell might waft casually over

hit you so hard

you'll have black eyes all week.

But he's a worm

he'll play until he's

on a fish hook

or carried away in some bird's beak

You're Way of Repeating

Saying what I say

after I've said it

would be less impressive

if people wouldn't respond

like it was the first time they'd heard it

Inside on the Outside.

Reminding me that her friends are her friends

and that some of mine are now hers

I see them gather outside the shop I'm in

and all go away together laughing.

The overactive blow heaters whir between

drying out the air and letting it soak

The sun blasts through the windows

dividing shadows up between itself and the strip lights.

I won't walk home when I leave here.

I can have wine in the park by myself.

In The Park

I've set this website up to share my poetry with everyone.

When you and I near meet together lip to lip,

Through the intoxicated haze of mingled breath,

what seemed inevitable is interrupted

as your parting mouth let’s slip

a question whether this would be clever

and what felt like it could only be true love

or something seen on television

becomes suddenly something unshared,

and tomorrow, to avoid embarrassment and upset,

we will agree to forget it, as a drunken thing.