Caroller at Mass (improv)

I was a perso at that point
not a coyote jack
hang wait on a min wait hang on
woo woo do you have hooves
don't come stomp in like that
we have stove to care fore
a pike and staff too less portent
still over the broom and never mind let's
recount three four five four you can
consider not you as a perso(n)
correct not correct

We've been through this, we are less
less than human thus less than humane
a critter substantially inhabiting the
confounded murky realm between
werewolf and vampire yet possessed
of entire diff genetic, don't worry
pretty so yr so-called head

One day soon don't laugh I/we/you will
fall in the water, not to break the ice
but because of matchstick century+++ leg###
century+++ leg### please read again
don't try to understand, and insult
or pretend of bone density for
the unborn, unforgiven, unbegotten

Drama? You like to raise drama now
sad point is we stuffed ancien dummies
are cellular incapable of revenge
stuck in centurial subspace
such then tech. escape hatch
plus then such oxygen deficit

The Gesture

As the end of my sessions drew near
it came into my head which I had learned
was poorly wired and liable to misfire
to present my patient
counsellor with a token of my gratitude 

For having listened to so many
weeks of my moaning and whining,
not to mention the groaning and wailing. 

Pressed for time I ducked into
the supermarket and grabbed the first substantial
item that manifested itself to me

Clutched it to my chest like a newborn
and hobbled along to the clinic.

And that is how I handed over
a 5kg sack of specialty potatoes

To Ms Piper while muttering my sweaty thanks
and suppressing the realisation I'd
neglected to pay for them.

She nodded and remarked that
across different cultures and historical eras,
the potato has shifted from an ancient agrarian deity
to a modern-day metaphor for quiet strength and grounding
and thus was an appropriate and touching gift 

Furthermore as a symbol of survival,
regeneration, and steadfast resilience
it signified that our work here was done.

Flaking Kingdom

I was at the loosest of ends
the people had voted for me to be
his official biographer
so that was how I ended up in his bedroom
the creaking zone

Walls stained with
scribblings none could decipher
daubed in crayon or soup while
bulbs swung bare from leather cords

His modest residence occupied and undecorated
for 25 years. The neighbours say he kept
himself to himself but reported
wives numbers one and two were really quite chatty

He himself sat smoking in the garden, hunched
over and hammering at a typewriter at all hours
while his cats prowled and brought tributes

Did you have a serving hatch

Yes we had a serving hatch
a hole in the wall between kitchen and dining room
for effective meal delivery, a
portal architecturally
known as a passthrough 

Great fun to climb through as a child
and maybe once as a bored adult when
no one was home

See also climbing over the baluster at the top of the stairs
and jumping down to the landing without bashing your head against
the wall or breaking an ankle
you had to make your own entertainment

But to return to the serving hatch
a feature particularly associated with the 1970s
along with the hostess trolley

Ours didn't have windows
or doors you could close
so when I was making
coffee in the kitchen that morning
I couldn't help but see
the shape
of the body
of my father
through the hatch
in the hospital bed
in the back room
where he spent his final night

Yes we had a serving hatch

I spotted him

Walking down Wardour Street one grey morning
on such a gloomy mundane day
        hay hay, hay hay, hay hay
        hee hee, hee hee, hee hee

On my way to work, I was late or
early no one cared not now or then
and when: nineteen ninety six

A figure walked, a denim jacketed fig
raw and majestic famed and aflame
of face set up against the cloud

He stopped
turned around
seemed confused
      it's him, it's definitely him he looks lost
      of course he does but now he's
      strutting languidly
      towards Oxford Street

Some call him Moz, I would not
  dare be so familiar certainly
    not speak to him, or even
      listen to him these days

I hope that's the correct response

Posh Isolation

You guys would be surprised at how many
people just sit in their house.
    That's it. That's their life.

These people just sit in their houses all day. They
    don't go outside, just stay in their house.

Such a preference can be a valid lifestyle
    choice rather than a lack of ambition.

Drawbacks such as reduced sunlight
    can impact sleep cycles and physical well-being.

        But people are annoying.

Honestly, I just find people exhausting
    even when they are perfectly nice and cordial
    all that having to fake nicey-nicey.

    Some people
    can stay inside
    their house
    for a whole week
    without going anywhere,
    and it doesn't
    bother them at all.

I've worked very hard to build a
comfortable life in a comfortable home.

        Also, people are annoying.

My house is where all my things are
    and I like my things.

I'm an introvert and all my hobbies
    can be done from the comfort of my room.

People are persistent irritants
    personal space invaders and
    social allergens.

        And I don't have to put pants on.

Don't discount optimal arousal theory
    I'm happy peaking in the moderate zone
    if that's all right with you.

Why go on a cruise or go to a theme park?
    You can just stay at home
    and watch videos on YouTube.

        Plus, people are annoying.

It's completely fine to limit your exposure
    protect your boundaries
     have a five-minute vent
     check your tank and
    focus on the core circle.

         It's too cold outside
         and I have massive social anxiety.

On my way, I'm on my way

I'm late and head into an unknown shop

Been in the business the drinking
business for 40 years now and still don't
know what or which wine to buy, but in a
spirit of light-heartedness have lately taken
to purchasing bottles based on
amusing labels or names

Thus select a Merlot
featuring an illustration of
the Secretary Bird
which tickles the proprietor

    Ah this Secretary Bird is
    a vicious bastard sir you know
    it kills the snake, it rips
    and kicks and stomps
    you never want to meet one
    an absolute devil!

    Eight pound ninety nine.