Irish stew

Street haunting my wobbly way home
corner of St Augustine's and Murray when
Look out it's the Peelers

My companions suddenly evaporate
the jam sandwich brakes hard and the feller's
fast out and up in my grill, polite like

'Excuse me sir you match the description
of someone we'd like to talk to
regarding a serious incident'

My default pos in such circs
regretfully
is flippancy and verbosity

'You must be sorely mistaken officer sir because
I match no description anyone even the most
imaginative writer could conjure
either verbally
or armed with pen why
even these days the old AI'

'Now look here - '

'It can't be me, whatever it is I have or
haven't done because you see I am sui generis'

He shakes his head and purses his pretty lips
'You do not have to say anything... ' 

And so forth before
announcing rather prissily that I could
well be charged with misuse
of the King's Latin on the
public highway, what a jumped up trumped up little

Realise I'm speaking out loud

'Get in the back of the van!'

Little Alexander

He was only 4 feet 6
but he could swagger down the street
waving loaded pistols
his Great Dane by his side

*Bounce*

At the age of 12 he contracted a form
of tuberculosis leading to spinal curvature

He was frail
asthmatic
and in chronic pain
he had stunted growth.
A pronounced hunchback, who
required a stiff canvas bodice to stand upright
but Alexander Pope was not an asshole

Not like me

He was only 4 feet 6
but he would stagger down the street
as a satirist of the Enlightenment era.
And girls could not resist his
witty letters

He lived in a villa at Twickenham
filled with the relaxing sound of trickling water.
And how about you boy, what have you done?

Some people try to pick up girls
this maybe happened to A Pope
who had an unrequited infatuation
with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

But then he had his high fevers, the inflamed eyes
and abdominal pain. Result: erotic unfulfillment

Yet possessed of a sharp, flirtatious mind
Alexander Pope was never called - except by
his numerous enemies - an asshole

Yes he was only 4 feet 6
had platonic bonds with Martha B
but it was Lady M who he had the eyes for

This led to an outburst, a declaration
whereupon she laughed in his face.
Mortifying, such mortification, a rupture

Leading to a twelve-year literary war. Now, some say
acceptance of rejection is the best form of self-care.
And you have to realize not everybody has to love you

Mmmmmmm

2.8 million years of mental illness

accumulated doom crowds out sleep years lost to also obesity
younger longer compulsive linked to also physical
inactivity linked to neurodevelopmental
disturbances emotional and language landscape
difficulties addictive near-constant a constant
presence addictive difficulty to capture attention anxiety
disorders poor sleep growing concerns growing
features woven into the fabric digital fabric
of screen use the flickers rewards linked to
poor academic outcome lack of lack of language
disturbed sleep no concentration delusions
physical health blood pressure brain struggles
to realise to communicate doom the endless cycle
impaired decision making taking time to infinite and
deadly mistakes to definitively end cycle stop or cease
all mental brain anxiety activity regardless
of socio-economic regardless of age status
the harm the damage endless regardless demand
regulation but it's digital health risks on demand
cause and effect developmental harm risks assess
call for action call for change a legitimate position
disorder and damage and 2.8 million years
of mental illness however not scientific and it
changes so fast digital one day limit to stop
exposure damage screen on scroll on by the time
of research and action it's too late now it's too late

Hook face

Sometimes I'm struck down
with a case of Peter Hook face
years of wielding low hung bass
and running 10ks at a decent
pace; mean-
while what have you done?

Yes sometimes we men of an age
come up come all
over with a grimace known as
Peter Hook face.

Halfway between a gurn and
a smirk, like
I'm not dead yet
but Christ it hurts.

Assassination

Bearded men
sit in parked cars and stare into the distance

Bearded men
walk ahead of the wife and squawking kids

Bearded men
don't have time for this type of nonsense

Bearded men
die in increasingly hairy and manly ways 

D-U-M-B everyone's accusing me

The old grey mare ain't what he used to be
    hamster wheel, scrambled
    eggs, anchor, soup.

His brain is a smoothie now
    tapioca pudding at this point
    vocal stim.

He's Flanderizing, keeps
repeating it like
it's a profound revelation.

He's on a looper
coping by trying to normalize
his stupidity.

His skull only houses rancid
ground meat
and broken light bulbs.

Big League Chew
    like a third-rate cruise ship comic
    brain worms, mashed potatoes.

His wig continues to morph.
    He feels the need
    to explain the 'joke'.

Summer eventually

There was a question about a poem
I'd never read before
which kept using the word
gentian, a word I'd never
heard but which had to be some
flower

My mind wasn't really
fully focused

Again and again with this
gentian; it quite began to grate
       but I couldn't let this affect
       my confused and sloppy answer

       Was gentian even with a hard
       or soft gee - gestapo or gentle

       Searching for the symbolism
       with burnt out torch light

If I hurried I could turn over
the paper walk to the bar and 
     be first in line for 
     the pint and pizza deal

                  What days
         not of blue darkness and despair

     Although there were some times
we fell down the stairs