Imaginary Drug

You’re like a drug when
I watch you on the screen.
You make me believe I
could fall in love with a block
of unkempt cheese.

Dude, how did you do it
to yourself and to me?

Unattainable folks with cash
and bad haircuts,
but you’re a bit nonplussed.

My feet tingle as you hold
that piece of plastic in your
hand, but how old are you really?

You’re fucking the cardboard box
of my life with a blunt knife,
but I don’t really care how you do it.

Continue to undress in irony,
or act like your the ultimate corporation as you place your name on every plaque.

Whatever the case, dude, you’ll be using a walker soon and I’ll be wishing I’d said something nice to the lady down the road before she died from a pinprick.

Rosary Beads

You know you’re fucking it all down to the ground with your vacant looks and your fish faced stare.

Then you spoke! I was someone else for a moment; engaged in gossip like a groupie infested with lust for fame and shiny gold plated bling.

What became of my intellectual underpinnings, a desire for books to enclose around me, and that rebel we-don’t-understand vibe?

Is it I who was mistaken when I judged you too soon? Are filled lips just as tasty as regular lips? Are vacant looks filled with more sorrow than A Picture of Dorian Gray?

I’m now bleeding philosophical perspiration from my pores. It’s flowing down into the stormwater drains to the sea.

I’m perspiring Aristotle, Foucault, Nietzsche and more. I’m infecting the sea with philosophy.

Should I worry that rich people with yachts will touch the water I infected and find Bitcoin boring?

Will they walk in a different direction or put down their Versace cushions to move about looking at the sky and the sea as they mutter eccentrically?

Would people think they were being touched by an angel, or would they melt at the thought of the devil?

Standing and speaking to this rather fashionable Nun, I’m unable to speak for a moment as her words creep over me.

She holds the rosary beads up to my height and I feel that childhood pew. My knees suffered on that wood for sins I hadn’t even committed.

Then she said, “You’re a wicked one the way you think too much. The devil will get you in the end.

Miss Nun jolted me out of my musings and back to the dark. Without warning, words escaped my lips as I walked away, “Well if you see the Pope you can tell him I want a refund for all those rosary beads I had to buy as a kid. They didn’t work…

Caravan Park Conundrum

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He’s a retired surgeon with a taste for woodwork.  He lives with his wife in a lovely house with good security and a vegetable patch. There’s a park down past his rear fence, which is pretty and quiet. However, to the right of his house, just a few blocks away, sits a caravan park.

No one knows how this caravan park came to be built in this location. Some say it was a stroke of genius on the developer’s part, while others say that the developer bribed the Council.  There is a reason why the caravan park now sits on that land, but let us not get carried away.

He loves the quiet. It’s wonderful for reading, woodwork, painting, and more. Sometimes he likes to give the stereo a blast to remind him of the 70’s.  It’s never before 9 am and always before 10 pm. He respects his neighbours.  He thinks he’s sweet.

He remembers his first Saturday once the caravan park was up and running. There was never a Saturday like this one before, but will probably be many thereafter.  That Saturday changed him forever.

Now Saturday has arrived again. It is the night. There is a wild party, and the caravan park is alive. What is this hell he must endure? Why is there so much noise? He finds relief with earplugs to grab a few hours sleep.

Then, Sunday descended. Saturday was hard, but Sunday is worse. Sunday consists of many fights from hell. Beer bottles fly about, kitchen utensils and tools go everywhere, shouting and banging lingers, and there’s an awful lot of barbecues.

There is a lull at 3 am, which turns into quiet. The weekend is over for another week. There is so much relief.

Your Extreme Ironing Nature

Your passion for extremes has always given me a sense of excitement and this new found energy.  I got caught up in your adventurous nature, that dark curly hair, and those sparkly eyes. 

I never understood: why your ironing basket was always empty, why you had those strange contraptions hooked on to your ironing board, and why you always took so much care of that ironing board.  

I began to question our love, for you would sneak away and then return unkempt and exhausted. What were you doing? Had you found someone else to touch and tingle?

Then, one day out of the blue, you took me into your world and showed me your soul. You showed me: how much you love to go on adventures, how to conduct extreme ironing in exotic locations, why adventures with two is better than adventures with one, and why power points never seem close when you are so far away.

We continue to embrace your ironing board until this day –

                          There are photographs on our walls of that ironing board, you and me.