Tram Spark
Here's my old home
just a brick and a brick
This country used be
another country
But here's my old home
just a brick and a brick
I can look through the crack
of a brick and a brick
They changed the
name of the street
But here is the bakery
chimney and ovens
Here's my old home
just a brick and a brick
I'd like to take apart some brakes just now,
find a socket, fit a ratchet to the socket,
fit the socket to a bolt, try the steel spring
adapter that goes round corners.
I want to get stuck, say fuck, and smoke
flat out in the driveway under a shop lamp.
I want the car to be something built before
plastic modules of electronics that can't be fixed,
black boxes good but for one microscopic fault
that shuts the whole system down.
I'd like to hurt my knuckles on the chassis
when the damned bolt finally breaks loose.
I'd like to do that and make it work.
A man walks in,
says "How are you?"
and I shake. We shake.
I haven't a clue
who he might be
and why his hand
is now in mine.
I am someone
else altogether.
When I burned the towers
I had no idea. I was smiling.
Airplanes flying into a tower
that size! It's crazy! Now two!
Imagine! And there it was
in a heap. I've been feeling
kind of bad about it since.
But imagine. No, don't call
the authorities. I've thought
about that but I'm sure
they're just as dumbfounded.
After all, how could I?
So you are naked in this poem after all,
this one about your legs and on your back
and round your throat. If you had a tattoo
it'd show up loud here in the highlands.
And you do. How I knew. And down here.
This one must have hurt. And so unstylish
now. Is it really a dragon? Is it really a rose?
Is it so? Is it really Gaelic for eternity?
What is this? Could we button you shut?
I do a Kegel of sorts I imagine
rise slightly to look around, then
release and sink. That's how
tedious it is to watch someone's
motorcycle skid off the track and
listen to seven men groan.
But there's a girl in the corner.
His dog is fat with kissing, fondling,
hand feeding. It's a fine love. Either
would jump in a river to save the other.
But she would be found, befriend.
You can hardly blame the Vatican
for being watchful in these things.
They don't want Hello! there when
St. Peter's bones are excavated and
found mixed with another primate's
bones or worse, when things in petto,
purple with familar, surface. But I
would like to think just once that
something true had happened when
hats down tools and wipe their hands.
In the backyard, where no one but family sees,
I explain the storks to my farfetching ancient.
I set my tea down in the grass and pantomime
the wings and the legs and watch her waver
between laughing at this silly bugger and then,
when she has forgotten the storks, wondering
what this man is up to, what this dance could be.
I held so still
birds whirled my
hair and hatched
after some weeks
mouths and eyes on
toes set in my scalp.
They'll return in spring
whirling. I held so still
and hold so still.
Mr Tendency likes his dog
better than the rest of us
who could do without
the guilt of wishing Missy
leapt and clamped by some
patient St Bernard if only
to watch Mr Tendency
unreeling Missy wide-eyed
He's calling her cunt
across the square and
she's walking purported
cunt across the square
right for the street
down to the buses
The Old Country
I could leave them all hanging
I burned the curtains down
My manager would search for me
While I was still in the last town
I know my blood is aching
from the things down below
and I haven't been up in front of a church
since I married a girl in the show
But I'd like it if you'd call me
a Christian when I go.
We could close down this bar
little girl and me
if you were to kiss me
in the wrong company
Daddy played fiddle
Mama waited home
They'd meet on a Sunday
when we were all cleaned up
I was your boy from nowhere
I was the tick in your ear
I was the radio at your pillow
You were almost as near
Princess Anesthesia dresses
her head in blonded pluming
spirals and walks as she must
for us animaled on joints.
Think of us, monkeys on stools,
monkeys smoking, monkeys
thumbing red suspenders, and
Princess Anesthesia walking.
You'll write one good
one if you're lucky,
and that's how they'll
learn to spell your name.
Then more filler for
your filler collection.
When cancer makes you
groan and scream, as
it will, if your fat heart
doesn't just stop,
the good one,
if you're lucky,
will finish the piece.
My mother was born the year
Pluto was ascertained. Since
then they've gone round a bit
and faded. Is it still a planet?
A perfect stroke:
scrapers of cash
burned clean with
matchbook cover
lessons. Ratchet
this film back.
Sulphurous smart,
lead from gold.
When we peeled
our kitchen walls,
we found someone's
mother in flowers
beneath our own
and someone else,
even deeper in birds
and cherubim. Then
what workers had
plastered by lunch
and left to open
windows. Here's one
hair of a man or a
horse, still auburn.
A space-craft
we fashioned
from glass and
solder and bright
copper leaf
has arrived at
the farthest moon
and sent back first
silhouettes of
Eisenhower's dog