Cancer And Divorces

This then, is happiness –
Me and eight mates in a minibus
On the way to a summer festival
Drinking Pimms mixed with vodka and singing out of tune
Fat hot air balloons dot the evening sky
Static as Braille
I aim a finger-pistol at the nearest, loose a shot –
Pop! It drops like a poisoned bird
And if I say we are young
And poets
Don’t hate us
Cos today, backflips seem child’s play
And if you pop your knob in a shark’s gob,
You’ll receive a tender blowjob
Pillars of light are punching through thick cloud
So it looks like heaven’s leaking
And I know everyone for miles around can see them too
But, this evening,
They’re just for us.
And I get to thinking:
Our future is so bright
This contentment so precise,
If I were God,

I’d kill us now

If I were God
And, God willing, someday I’ll rise to that hallowed status,
I’d snip the tape,
Unhitch a tractor trailer
Blow the left tyre then pitch it
Straight through our happy windscreen
The whole fucking thing
Can you see it?
The test dummy majesty of steering column recoil!
The money shot of nine skulls pulping!
Nothing says beautiful tragedy so poignantly
As fine young men
Bludgeoned in their prime by stray farm equipment

Lord, you would be doing us a kindness
We will never live up to such glorious tomorrows
Better that sorrowful mourners moan with grave certainty
How these rare boys would have, collectively,
Transformed the globe in unfathomable, snowflake ways
Better that those that survive us clutch severed clutch cables
Crooning skywards:
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Better teddies tied to damp railings
Than the slow dawn of a disappointing Christmas
The unwrapping of nine gifts
All cheaper, crappier,
Than the promise of their boxes

There will be cancer
And divorces

Potential is a brutal dad
An extra three inches of room in the condom
Billowing like an oxygen tent

And yes, we could fight our fate,
Go fifteen rounds with the Creator
And His righteous lightning-punch chop socky
We could glove up like Rocky!
O God loves a masochist!
Bloody fists tight in red gloves
Like two broken hearts
But martyrdom is self-defeating –
Are you beaten cos you walk away
Or cos you keep showing up for a beating?

Facing your fears on that murderous dancefloor
Flashbulbs ignite with each shot to the abs
Blood in your ears drowning out every crowd roar
Tap up those veins cos it’s time for your jabs
Move like a butterfly, shoot like Apollo,
Weather them hurting bombs tough as cold concrete
Saved by the bell, but your creed’s ringing hollow
The stick and move mantra repeats with each heartbeat
Bleak Philly mornings spent pounding cool carcasses
Wet ribs exposed like a half-submerged galleon
Beating meat can’t prepare you for how hard this is
He ain’t a dead cow, and you ain’t no stallion
Screw this one up you’ll be back selling ice cream
Greaseballs like you are a snap to replace
Everyone knows the American Dream
Demands being repeatedly punched in the face

Cos it’s one for the money
It’s two for the money
It’s nine for the money
It’s ten
It’s swing when you’re winning
It’s swing when you’re not
And it’s get up
Again
And again
And again

Go down like Christ to the old cheek, cheek, glassjaw
The noble man bleeds for the things that he loves
Hang by the phone for when happiness rings
But it’s hard to pick up when you’re still wearing gloves

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