40 years since the shit hole called. Even more since it last pleasured me – dying flies and sticky carpets, a tribute to Jane Fonda, sci-fi, the eternal-ised sexiness of Barbarellas in far off punk days.
It’s different. Its changed. Wow! What they’ve done to the city. City centre only mind. Still not too far off from the shanty lands. Stood on metaphorical street corners listening to the brogue. There is kindness here, politeness. Someone could easily assume to be a friend in need.
The Grand Hotel is very grand. I find a pictorial joke, at my own expense, there. I eat well. Diners listen to my foolishness as if each word was important. I feel as if i’m being looked after, cared for, by an organisation.
Next day. At the workshop. During lunch a crazy thing happens. Someone passed the time and asked to know more about my artistry, what I did, how I practiced. I spoke as if I knew my stuff. I left hope, ideas, inspiration. I found I can say things I couldn’t say before.
A few days later I am in a rural shit hole, a place that depends on sky for beauty. I claim to be a poet and demonstrate my words to hear the call, “that’s dark” and dark it is because I’m sitting watching mom dying. I sit next to her. Become scarecrow. I scare the crows off. In her room a photograph. Of my sister. I feel unprepared for another white feather falling.
Vibrators vibrating troops of tomorrow
I am stuck to the floor and her fishnet stockings
Rouge cheeks, red lips, blue, black hair
A pout, a look, a premonition
Suddenly broken Aston’s shattered Edgebaston’s
Five Ways, a 74 to the Scott Arms, look glamorous
Pedestrianized, clean glass, friendly traffic wardens
With their new monikers claiming traffic stewardship
You new Birmingham reclaimed; I claim you
But what is this disparagement of the Albion I see
Mocking not my artistry nor my skilled practice
But my football team, the blue nub of it, the shiny white stripe
How dare they peck. Fly away my sadness.
This feather cannot fall
- Comment
- Reblog
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Detrich's Weblog 
Leave a comment