Poetry

A Dusting of Stars - 2005 collection

 County Fair 

Carnival music clashes 

with thoughts of lemongrass

in Thai yellow curry.

My brother brings me pancakes 

cloaked in powdered sugar 

and cinnamon: fair food. 

I choose the Ferris wheel -

not a wild sky ride,

but I am not from this

new generation that needs to be

twisted and turned upside down.

Electric blue toenails and purple hair.

Nose rings and fifteen studs in each ear.

I’m used to a slower pace:

the bard’s weepy tales of Ophelia.

But still, the swirling neon

acts like a magnet,

galvanising my senses till

I wander home exhausted

clutching an oversized pink bunny

with white floppy ears.

Flash Fiction

Story Page

Doorway Dreams

So little rain overnight, just a puddle near the end of my sleeping-bag in the morning. Lucky with the weather, for sure. Sitting on my pack now, like it was a big old wooden rocking chair, instead of a red bag full of clothes. Frank’s grinning at me from his side of the doorway. Needs a new set of false teeth, that guy. Just gums, but he sure got through that corned beef sandwich he scored yesterday, no problem. I found me a bike down by the tracks. Hid it in the blackberry bushes till I can get some tools. I’m going to fix it up good, then I’m going to ride it around with a couple of garbage bags and collect bottles. There’s good money in bottles. Frank just pulled out his gold watch. He loves that thing even though it don’t tell the time anymore. Used to be his father’s, so he says. I think he found it in a dumpster, but a guy is entitled to his dreams. 

My dreams are simple. I’d like a bucket of fried chicken and a train ticket to Wyoming. Then I’d get a job riding range on a ranch. I can just see myself sitting round a campfire, cowboy hat pushed back on my head, eating beans from an enamel bowl. The fire’s burning low, the stars are coming out. I hear coyotes call in the distance. That’s the life. Not huddling in a doorway with winter coming on, while everyone passing by looks at me like I’m a piece of shit. I’m lucky when I get a loony in my cup. Old Frank, he snorts his nasal spray and takes out that pocket dictionary of his and pretends to read.