The Things I Leave Behind Part Two

The Things I leave Behind Pt.2 (of 3)

You are well balanced;

The chip on your shoulder

Balances nicely with the shrew

In your heart.

I was stood in a bus stop

As you walked by on

The other side of Buckfast

And Thunderbird.

You are a figure of self import,

I don’t think beyond the mythical

Camaraderie of poetry

We would give each other

The time of day.

Your cartoon coat

And brilliance, reflects

Like sun on the North Sea.

What awe? Some awe.

We spent some time

Talking about you

And the rest of the time

You listened to what

I thought about you.

You are writing about stars

In the bookshop built of words

All the telescopes aimed precisely.

You clutched my hand

Unexpectedly, between poems

When I asked, why?

You said, I felt suddenly close.

I asked you for a coffee

You said, I am married,

I didn’t know coffee

Held such intrigue.

You had one bare foot

When I gave you the printer,

Your flat has a toilet

With a runway.

  

I bump into you on

The pavement outside of

The Truva Café and you teach

Me a new word. ‘Tardigrade’

You are a sweet tenor bull of a man.

They were talking about you

And not being kind.

I wondered what you would say

If you knew I defended you.

You being so defensive.

I don’t forget what was said

Or you saying it.

The mean always mean

What they say.

You kissed me on the cheek

Just before stabbing me in the back

In a two for one offer.

How do you cope with all this?

You said,

All what? I said.

This! THIS! you repeated

Encompassing existence.

We circle each other,

Sparring verbally

But you understand

I am not really interested

In the cuts we make.

I wouldn’t mind if you were my Dad

You said,

And I thought about

The logistics of that.

A good man with politics

In his head and blood and bones

And heart and life,

The old left, the only left

Worth squat.

Don’t leave, you never know what might happen

You said but I never understood what you meant.

Maybe you could have just asked for yourself.

 You bought me a shit-load of drinks

One night, wrote my favourite attack

On coca cola. You dervish through life

With your sense of romance and weed.

Quieter than an introvert mouse

You nibble at the bread of poetry

Leave soft footprints in my flour.

I often wondered about you

And thought about calling

But it was late

And all my credits with you

Were gone.

I don’t really know

Except for the fact

Of your astonishing

Hard won prose. I like

It when you say my name.

You were so vain

You liked the fact my hair was grey

Even though you dyed yours

And denied it. What kind of

Person does that?

I was sitting in a café

Watching you shelter under

An umbrella in Morningside,

The rain made you into a watercolour.

You smile even when alone.

On an Edinburgh street

All bubbled with setts

You were waiting to be

Admired or recognised

And failing on both counts.

When your mask slips

It shows why you wear it so often.

Nothing under it but fear.

These are the things I carry away

And leave behind and carry away.