friday

my dad
used to pull people
out of car wrecks

we knew what happened
if you crashed

and your seat belt wasn't on

you'd fly from the back seat
right on through the windscreen

breaking the necks
of the front seat passengers

on your way

and lose a hand
or maybe two

before you landed on the road
twenty feet
or ten feet

or more

in front of the car

or maybe they'd find your
hand
a hundred yards
down the way

the next day

covered in blowflies

we had seat belts
the second they were invented
and we fucking put them on
don't you worry

so

sitting here by the road
under a blue blue sky
on the green green grass

with little white lawn daisies
looking so sweet

waiting for wig to finish the hedge

i'm fully aware

that if a car lost control
on the corner here

it'd go right over

me

and pop my head
just like a watermelon

Little Children

Worst F#!! Ever

the worst f*ck of my life. a story. i left in the morning, early. dunno why really because, after all, he was there last night, pink and hairy and he saw the lot too. of me that is. if he was looking. but i'm not bothered to say how are you and pretend like it mattered. he's not a good f#!! , not by any stretch of the imagination and i've got a good one... imagination i mean. what kind of bloke says to you (while he's putting a donger on) 'i'm not much into it really'. well, hey, that's encouraging eh? whoo hoo! i'm feeling sexy now baby! and me, like the frikking idiot that i am, went right ahead and did it anyway? too frikking shy to tell him to stick that little fella back in the budgie smugglers and piss off. me piss off that is .

you can imagine how horny he was.

n't. i couldn't even tell whe he was finished. as for me, i didn't even bother to pretend. it takes a few goes for me to relax you see, enough so's i can read them and appropriately anticipate and understand what's going on. and to tell you the truth i don't get off on them being a new conquest. novel and untried. like a man does. like i think a man does. for all their talk anyway.

so he says stop and i'm thinking he can't finish with me sitting on him like that so i hop over a bit and reach down to play with him out of an inordinate and sacrificial sense of obligation or fairness, not from desire, and i'm thinking i'm so bored and he's nothing to me anyway and ick! i don't wanna touch that thing!

bleh! anyway, he stops me and i'm so completely grateful that i could kiss him, which is a contradiction i know, but i'm grateful because it's just a floppy little bored, slippy slug anyway and no wonder i couldn't feel anything.

next time some guy says i'm not that into it he can go fuck himself, if he's into that that is.

i never knew if he came or not and obviously i couldn't give a rat's and i'd rather not talk about his unappealing bits anyway thankyou very much.

so i'm leaving before he gets out of his drunken coma and i should have gone right then, last night when he said to stop but i couldn't be bothered driving home.

it's too too far.

it's raining. cold and perfect as far as i'm concerned. i washed my fanny on his face washer, no spoof there anyway, and i brushed my teeth. it was only five am and sunday at that, so i wasn't going to disturb his hungover musicians backside, no matter what i did. i pondered the idea of sticking a record on, nice and loud before i walked out the door. aw nasty.

but i'm not nasty.
it was a good morning for a tune, that's all.

ah the lovely smell of wet winter air in melbourne. i shivered but was glad for the coldness in the air. fucking smokers, what the hell was i doing?

well, alright, i know what.he thought i was a spunk when i met him that time (with my brother) before i'd left my erstwhile, before he'd thought he had the chance. ha ha if only he knew... anyway, it was too easy to slip up in this (post marital) void. just used to having someone around. go figure since i couldn't wait to get out the door. i'm gonna be way more picky from now on in i promise myself and i've seen the light anyway so it's a given. i've got a new word and i'm gonna try it out.

no.

the city's winter morning seems so pale and wan. it blinks with big, crusty, sleepy eyes. it's caught having a piss by some headlights sort of thing, if you know what i mean. st kilda 5.15 sunday morn, all quiet. the day shift's still asleep and the junkies have slunk away. still a bit grubby with last night's litter.

oh hey, there. i can see some stragglers not gone to bed yet. a cheery little group of ravers, moving subtly to the reverberations of last nights doof and heading for the beach. i wonder if i could cope with a dip in the sea this chill morning?
i wondered and scratched around for my keys out there on the footpath. but no, and vroom.. off i go and don't look back. bugger the city sea, i'm for fresh air and country living, just having a flirt with city life. groovy at night, but this morning's kind of shame faced and i'm out of here.

or is it me that's shame faced? hmm, nah, don't think so.

hmm..hmm..hmm..hmm here we go, macca's for brekky. coffee $2, bargain! drive through too so no bother there.

i reach over and put the radio on, sipping this first of many coffee's and you wouldn't believe it! it's him! the 'i'm not interested' bad fuck! the worst root ever! ha ha ha. what a laugh! i mean, he's good at the music and everything, i'll be the first to admit, but it's rock, so... well you know. and hey, it's pub rock too and i hate pub rock so why did i ever think we'd get married and i'd fill the hole in his heart that his ex wife left? or girlfriend. whatever. young, pretty, french. ha ha ha! i'm such an idiot for fuck's sake.

i reckon he's in it for the music but and not the chicks like a proper musician! ha ha ha!

so now it's good, this morning romp. i'm laughing and cackling to myself, at myself about this little overnight experience, and hoping like fuck the condom didn't break... or leak, spoof or not. eek!
this fella's given me enough material for the best laugh ever and i can't wait to tell someone, so i roll down the window and yell out to a couple of young streetwise groovers, 'i just had the worst fuck of my life!' and laugh like an idiot, tooting the horn. they yell something out and wave their arms, calling me back. i think the offer was there for some worthwhile redemption but i'm going home. that's fucking IT!

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today (Written Sept. 4th, 2002)

it was twenty years ago today...
...my baby died in her sleep. which is what we all say is how we want to go isn't it... she's a blur, a dream. i pinch myself and know her to be a fact. i broke my finger yesterday. now i feel sickly and ouch and annoyed and it's fitting to feel a bit low today. didn't do it on purpose of course and it's a bloody nuisance but sometimes one looks for a reason to emphasise the pain you want to feel. just so you don't think you're forgetting, or something. she's not my handy topic, my maudalin common thread that we might have, my deep reason for you to empathise. i've never put it public like this and i'm healthy about it and so on and so forth but she truly did exist and i forget that a bit and usually it's ok, but they played 'the first time ever i saw your face' which is about her baby being born, they played it on the radio on the way home from 5 hours at the hospital last night. how do they know to play it every year on her birthday or this her death day? my brain gets it. some people die young and some don't. but today i feel sad and sick a bit and the mid-day movie's crap and my finger is throbbing to the rythym.

lucille gladys melia. january 4th 1982 - september 4th 1982

Kejoma