During the month of The Kowloon
I parted ways with my employer
rain degged the raby mere
where misspelled headstones
sprung up
like strangled teeth
during the month of The Golden Wheel
I returned home
a man answered the door
a messianic man at my mother’s side
I ran toward Friday’s field
a traveller dispute roped me in to its
violent orbit
during the month of The River Queen,
of Town Meadow Supper, a
holy street-war with The Blue Star:
I sequestered myself
frequented lock-ups in Pimbo
played pool with lads I knew
who didn’t mind doing time; six
months here, six months there,
whatever
ramraid jobs on juggernauts at
midnight
slinging old Lugers or Colt Navy’s
straight from a Wild West movie
in the month of The Lobster Pot
I ingested a shiv on Tollemache
Street
convalesced in an old warehouse
for a fortnight
I felt that wild geese and blackbirds
were the makers of a man’s fortune
when I crawled out I saw a woman
handing out rail passes
to the overspill build
so I jumped a 508 and raked
macadam for six months
and earned enough to eat
silverside steaks through winter
the month of The Jade Garden
confounded what I already knew:
my life, my fate
are in the hands of other forces.
*
Nick’s collections Small Town Chase, Holy Nowhere, and the upcoming Caravan are available to buy here.