Poem: It’s Easy

I thought growing up was leaving childish things behind,
As if I had somehow changed my mind

From the mind that roamed when I was nine.

Am I looking for a sign?

No, I’m standing at the bus stop,
The beautiful bus stop,
Where people with bodies stand
And demand or countermand

Or just look out for the bus.

So why all this fuss?

It’s not as if it’s easy, but

It’s easy.

3 December 2006

Poem: In Memoriam: Amy Winehouse

The CD player is a high-end CD player:
It doesn’t work.
It has to warm up.

It warms up.

Your Frank CD,
Purchased in Fopp,
Begins to rotate,
Gains speed.

Those fuck-me pumps,
Pumping lungs,
Shrinking lungs,
Shrinking you,

We watched.
Took notes.
Formed opinions.
Listened to the music.

We’ll listen to the music,
Over time,

And you’re over
And out of
Time,

Lying there.

I’m not lying here:
You were with us,
Always will be,
Will be

In the future.

You lost the battle
But the war goes on.

We express ourselves.

23 July 2011