Distortionist

Show me the money.

Show me the knife.

[^]

I’m paid too little
to hand over my life -

so here you go.

Thanks so much.

Is that ok?

More than enough…

[o]

What was that?

What was what?

I saw your hand…?

..some wires were caught.

Don’t lie to me:
all is lost.

You misunderstand, sir:
our wires are crossed.

[>!<]

Strapped for cash, then?

[.]

It’s Christmas, y’know.

I understand:
it’s a big boat.

[?]

Stuck on the dole,
a man with two names;
jobless a year,
no jobs to gain;
supporting my kids
and the ball and chain;
supporting my habit
to escape the pain;
a price on my head,
prepared to be slain;
so tell me, lad,
how are we the same?

…

But I am sorry.

Sure it could be worse.

You could be dead,
leaving in a hearse.

Yet you’d never.

I prefer not to.

So why the knife?

Simply to shock you.

[*-*]

And as Serge said:
all is found.

The guards, here?!

According to the sound.

You’ve ruined my life!

Quite a good guess.

They’ll kill my wife!

She deserves less.

My children, taken!

That would be, yes.

[_]

I’ll stick you now,
Fucking distortionist!

{<>}

Awake I lived,
Asleep I died:
But at least in bed
I did not hide.

Armed to the Tip

Surrounded by death,

Armed with a pen:

With each last breath

I think about then…

Your eyes smile still

From the edge of home:

Tell me, just then,

Did you feel so alone?

So reconciled,

Beyond recognition:

Bound by the bonds

Of unspoken tradition –

You noosed your own,

As life had shown.

*

You without voice

Lived within you:

You without hearing

Died in situ.

In circles we cycle

To the present day:

Motson mutters,

“More of the same.”

A strangled silence

Kills the strongest:

A life asking “why?”

Is certainly the longest –

Without real repose

As life slowly goes.

*

The ink runs dry,

Re-written thoughts:

All to ask now

Is the number of knots.

A family in tears,

The goalkeeper’s blunder:

While a peerless pro

Brings global wonder.

Before them both

There was only you:

A dangling example

Of what not to do –

With death no-one knows

(what pride would not show).


(here I try to relate the deaths of Gary Speed and Robert Enke with my father's)