Francis Curran – Two PoemsFrancis Curran
A Day On Site
I use to be a painter; and toshing-
Out the insides of a building site.
This spark, still off the head
From speed spooned into tea,
Pumps the body to a techno beat.
This git’s too keen with the chisel,
Chases out a finished wall.
Flashing the wallet, passing round
A naked lover; peroxide crop and
Red high heels; on all fours.
Lithe and teasing, on the hug of a shag-
Pile floor; the curled pierced tongue,
Simulating, a licking out.
The plumber, has her at his crotch,
Calls the spark a jammy bastard
Who now, not keen on sharing, snatches-
Pops her back in the pocket.
Throws us with the sudden switch,
A run down on a pet constrictor,
Its feeding of a live pink rat.
He says, a snake can swallow
A fully-grown cow; the mutual howl
Of bollocks!-snorts, it says so
In the guinness book of records,
Rests his case on that.
The chippy, in the power sawing,
Spewing up of hot wood shavings,
Sticking to the glass white skirting,
Retorts of a cow,
With a kink for snake skin.
The patience snaps on these intruders,
For the buggering of my work.
Oh jesus christ! mad for the dust,
Dublin dave slopes in,
The broom, the pan the dustbin.
He speaks without an open mouth,
Knows he’ll leave this flat,
Us looking up, faces scrunched, begging
What the hell was he on about?
But, he’s brought his stash tin.
Takes a clump of potent skunk, that reeks
Above the air and fumes,
Asks his way to a skin.
For dublin’s sake in skinning up,The devil, if he had his way…
The bang-lock ruin of a fresh gloss door.
Bangs on about god knows what.
The steering onto football; man utd,
Sets him off on one again.
But at least the field is narrowed.
I made sod all that day.
The devil, if he had his way…
On monday he would have your wife
On tuesday, persuade us of our savings
On wednesday, rain bottles on another faith’s head
Thursday, set his stall of fine skunk weed outside
The pupils point of exit, fleeing local comprehensive
Out doing the ice cream van
On friday, penetrate with undue consent
On saturday, train the sight on a beating heart
On sunday, set off doomsday; unlock digit
Man machine to key the code to drop the bomb
That flips man back to dark and stone, and yet
I bet the devil loves his mum
return to SHAMPOO 25
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