THE RIGHT TO TURN

See the winters breath,
That cried to sleep
With the sun that lent its decaying arms
To the stooping forked shoulders
Of the mangled trees.

We are married she said.
Married till I wash the dirt off my finger.
We are looking for a shiny piece of nothing
To save our lives,

As we walk to the arena
Of gaudy freaks of mouth
Dribbling drink.

Make love to some with sin
Some with love
Some with gin.

Carve out nothing u have ever seen.
Buy a new bust.
That will adorn some corner
Of a prestigious institution
In your pedagogical mind.

She tells me not to turn
But I do.
She freezes half clothed,
A cloud of perfume
Halo on her breasts.
Whisky on her rye.

Dream up a sage
Who never turns when
She says don’t.
So I turned the last time she said don’t.
Lost my eyes to the sage who
Never died.

The right to turn.
They used it in the wars,
Until they all got killed.
In the shower
They got billed .
For all the water they lost off their backs,
Yet ,they did in the tower,
Let some dreg disappear
From the cursed prison of fortune.

The right to turn was marred over years
Into being just an innocent act
Non-malicious intent
Yet what it was a singularly
Capable destroyer of the waist, of the handle that jiggled along
Around her belly.
That twist that broke his spine under the yellow lorry
The lorry that turned to escape,
Being turned into a killing machine.

Why did we die when we said we would,.
We could have always cheated.
Always lied.
Always denied the right to turn
Into dust.
Always cried.
Virgin mannequins of bland delight,
turned their right to turn into sagging masters
of another generation of sex goddesses,
into a race of embroidered jeans
in a third world country.

slaves

Ink films over,
Blood enraged.
Clenching,
Biting down,
On what is not ours to deem.
We are all slaves.
To our own sacredness.

A shadow trampled his man as he walked up under the streetlamp.
He dug his cigarette into the black sole ,
not his ciggy really,
he poached it off his chimney friend.
He waited there, yellow earth for a companion.
And a empty carton of appy,
leaking its last bile onto the dark sky.
Eagerly waiting for a disappointment.
And a disappointment is like ..
prawns?
an allergy to expectation.

weapon

He walks with a permanent slouch.
Not the old man slouch,
not the hunchback slouch,
not the habit slouch.
His was the kind that people
force on to themselves naturally.
His hands aiming desperately for the ground,
swivelling from his rounded shoulders.
His jowls large, and droopy.
His greeting in the morning like a
tired mule with a mouth ulcer.
But somehow one saw a promise,
a ray of light in his hand,
a jolt of power,
a weapon of mass fuckin destruction.
with just a pen,
a pen in his hand.

An exhaustive description of a place

location : hospital
exact: room 16, north east corner.
time: 09:30
position: horizontal

2 tube lights
5 curtains
1 saline drip
2 stands
1 stool
2 waiting beds
2 beds
1 old man
2 young men
2 red chairs
2 cupboards
1 black phone
2 table with draws
5 pillows
1 fan, one blade slightly bent.

Morning ,the sun enters, hits the wall and falls on the floor.

Mid- afternoon the sun bounces of the floor to the ceiling,
makes soft triangular slashes on the ceiling.

Evening, the small squares of yellow move across the curtains, fast.

Black leather bag on black rexine seat, contiguous.

Old man fingers his black nose,
with his white fingers.

White-jacketed woman nods

absently.

Old man chuckles like old men do.

One cupboard with a piece of gauze or fine white cloth tying the doors together.

Second cupboard closed with a piece of plastic tube.
Fan more to the right than left.
In
su
lin
dr
ips

s l o w l y.

One blue notice board


empty.


Doctors are young and pretty, looking like airhostesses.


Bright things:
2 red chairs, stacked.
bedcover with purple stains
old man’s sense of humor.
red chairs outside reflect on lavender walls to make pink reflections.

Bland things:
grey door to bathroom
old man ‘s relatives’ eyes.
2 types of curtains, both with flowery patterns.
one green leafy
one with pink and blue flowers
They are drawn as the nurses in blue uniform walk in.

Attitudes in the room:

haughty old man

hesitant young relative of old man.

nonchalant friend of relative of old man.

familiar surprise of doctor to old man’s haughtiness.

contained irritation of nurse to old man’s haughtiness

spectators detachment of the sweeper.