Three nights or seven by the river
Under the earth and out to forage
No one loves me, I have no Dad
But I am the raging man of my age
The taker, not the giver –
A blam-blam in the brainpain
Of the blindsided copper
And flowers for Himmler
Who had no balls
Fuck Rooney and Co.
I have no woman and no flag
Am a pumped up anti-fag
Who’ll kick at pricks, cunts and wogs
And lie down with dogs
When the infrared lines my sleep
Like a mother’s arm
To reveal my head dreaming
If not the dreams I keep
You can’t Rambo this away
Or lie about being a pig
If you work for them it’s not for me
And these days every man for himself
Really means fuck the poor and the North
What’s a working Dad worth
When the club closes and the music fades?
So I killed her a bit and hid
In woods I knew as well as my palm as a kid
And made the bastards hunt me like a stag
But they caught me, finally they did
And no one alive loves me now
Or loved me then
Except the ones who rushed to my side
During the stand-off, kept back
For their own safety, so they didn’t say to me
We love you, we love you at all
Out of remote control again
Breaking out like a fist into a face
I found a hard place and made it mine
And a trigger is a devil’s trident
Bent into an angel’s grace.
They killed me where they found me
By the stream in the pissing rain
A rat to them, a husband in name
A killer and blinder and wounder.
My blood was forgotten in a small river.
For a second before or after
I felt myself fill with a quiver
Then was just chip shop’s newspaper.
poem by Todd Swift