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.