consignment

that get to be gone place

where the Friday Saturday night girls went

they’d appear by my side for a while

be fun companions stay the night

then gone with the dawn next day

& some might appear again

stay for a month or so

then be lost forever

consigned to history

distant memory

& now I wonder

is that the same place

where my dead friends go?

here for a while only

like all of us fools are

making the most of what we can

then consigned to history

memories of times gone

some to be forgotten

others to haunt

in idle moments

long nights cool mornings

with a wry smile

& a warm feeling to come

class clown on offer

there was always the role

of class clown on offer

going for the laughs the giggles

as there was nothing else going on

wordplay with the old men

understanding we were going

to take over one day soon

knowing full it was the teachers

putting us on with thin veiled despise

the good ones had patience

while the bad ones knew sensed

they could behave badly

to ill-fitting kids like us

we were destined to be non achievers

coming from shithole lives

they could beat us with words

digs in the back out of sight

nobody the wise or caring

just one more adult with anger issues

we dealt with them by mockery

knowing that they lied

& all we had to do was endure

until we could get out of this place

to the real world

which was at least honest

in its cruelty

coming down the pipe

all kids know for sure

their parents are fools

& I made sure

I had the evidence

just to be clear

listened intent

to their conversations

bordering on the banal

the rough ways they displayed

their ignorance on the world stage

listening to politicians

who were obvious fakes

eyes wide as their lies moved crooked lips

& vowed things were gonna change

when my crowd moved into town

& now

I see the mediocrity curse catching

the slow move to grey suits

trousers some kind of fawn

I hear mi compadres talking

like yesterdays news

is fresh from the pot

worshipping woeshipping celebrities

with nothing fresh to offer

but endorsements

for products we already got

& it’s a slow low scream to the death

when there are no new ideas

ways of being to fix this mess

small puddles of mayhem

created by mediocrity

coming down the pipe

we can call it pride

if you will

preferable to macho bullshit

that side of you

people never knew

I helped kept hidden

where you did me harm

cutting to size you called it

to hold me tight

the side hidden by your charms

where people thought you

all sweetness & light

not hearing your rages

fire

there in the night

& when I let you go

the same fools cheered

I told you so

she was too good for him

as you slipped away

smile hiding your sins

& we can call it pride

I kept all of this

hidden inside