1 Comment Written by Uncle David Jester on October 13, 2008 – 1:44 pm

As i travel down a

lonesome Brunswick backstreet,

one winter’s Monday morning,

striding a stride so sweet,

Feet barely touching

the ground,

Listening to the liquid sound

of past folk legends

through a discman on its

last battery bar,

with one broken earpiece

it crackles,

As i search beyond the

muffled audio for that

simple chord progression

of stories seldom told,

I soak in the rising north’s sun

from the distant

mountain horizon,

my feet so damp,

At the sound of the

first junkie curb wreck

the wind changed its course,

My face was stuck,

they caught me mid-yawn

with a half concrete grin,

At first i was taken,

followed by confusion,

rage,

self loathing,

stranger loathing,

lust,

delight

and indecisiveness,

couldn’t possibly carry out

my lasting days

with this face,

The doctors would

not understand,

nor would the priests

or the prostitutes,

something had to be done,

Tried to continue

my regular daily errands,

as well as some of

my self indulgent

inner city wanders,

But the boar was too wild

for common town folk,

they looked me up,

then they looked me down,

they snickered through their

Cristian Dior 20/20 vision

and their quarter pounder

stained teeth,

I was beginning to doubt

that things would change,

got used to travelling

through life

like a black man

on the wrong side

of the street,

like an aborted

Rosemary’s baby

i started losing

track of friends,

but i bumped into enemies

on a regular basis,

eye contact was

no longer an option,

I was free,

like a solitary eagle

on it’s flight back home,

i was dependent on

nothing and nobody

i was free,

washing my clothing or

myself became optional,

i walked around with

shit in my pants

for around a fortnight

just to see

if my rash could turn

from red to violet,

So i got back out

that same old discman,

and played that

same old track,

i was finally me again

no looking back,

Then when the

rain fell down

and the battery bar died,

i bumped into an angel

with a droopy left eye,

As our vision locked

and the world

around us spun,

like a minor car crash

we kissed right beneath

the mid morning sun,

the first kiss was a peck

followed by the melting

of lips and tongue,

the world slowed

its spinning down

and raised us from

off the ground,

Eyes open once again,

lips slowly press apart,

one quick glance in

glass was proof enough,

we were no longer

expressive retards.