Poetry
by Marc Carver
TERRY SEVEN
Terry told me three or four years ago
that he would be happy to move to Spain and live there.
but the wife would not go.
A couple of years later the wife decided to go
but only from Terry
but he soon picked himself up
got a new wife and got her out doing two jobs
and guess where,
Spain
he made it to Spain as I guess I always knew he would.
He is there now collecting his social and laying on the beach waiting for his new wife to finish her two jobs
People ask me what my interest in Terry is.
I tell them I have no interest in him
but he is like a soap opera.
I like to tune in to see what he is up to
in a way he is my hero.
Never had a job
looked after by women
a modern day pimp
CONSIDER THAT A DIVORCE
We walked into the shop
the woman behind the counter was big
and she looked tough too.
I looked down at her fingers.
On her wedding finger was the mark of her
wedding ring.
But all around it, the fingers were puffy
she must have had to yank that thing off
and now she was stuck with the mark
that would never let her forget.
THOSE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR WALKING.
I saw the beggar man
that now had a promotion to drug dealer.
I couldn't hide the look of disgust from my face
as he wouldn't look at me.
But you know what they say.
Judge yee
but sometimes it is tough.
You have to walk in another man's shoes to know
but I have no desire to do that
I have enough trouble getting anywhere in my own.
UNTITILED
I lay in a field
looking up at the angry clouds,
some light shining through
my legs are open in a v and my arms outstretched like a big i.
I can touch the barley
the way it is only prickly if you rub it one way and not the other.
I am naked of need and body
clothed by skin and empty of want.
Some rain touches my face
the faint feeling of water
I am not cold nor hot.
I have no desire to be anywhere else
It grows never dark here and i can melt into everything.
This is the place i have been heading to all my life
and now i am here.