these days

ashamed

for the anger

confessions

poor choices

in women

friends

the crises

the violence

drinking

drugging

without end

the idiocy

abandonments

loved ones

false promises

in love

to family

friends

the sex things

regretted in the mornings

& all this

is now no longer needed

I can look in the mirror

these days

the flying men

we were the drunk men

the flying men

there in the bar

most nights we could

after working twelve hour days

only getting picked up

on Friday Saturday nights

by the girls & women

needing their own buzz

allowing stolen kisses

drunken fumbles

dark corner of the bar

in the alley

backs of cars

heavy petting

sometimes the sex

before returning home to him

waiting at home

who had lost his job

laid off this year

stuck in front of the tv

none the wiser

I burned through them baby

there with my youth

energy ideas & looks

all on my side

like a knife through butter

nothing taken or given

just excitement

lust love sex

life

each of us accepting rejecting

moving on to other newer times

& now I hear one has gone

taken by death silence

no more shining in the sun

& I couldn’t ask for details

burn or burial

to think of that beauty

twisted & torn

no chance now for apologies

forgive me’s for being young

arrogant

that everything would continue

in the way life had always done

these ladies

getting to a certain age

& butter would not melt

they act like life

never laid a finger

& I don’t care to think

linger on ideas of the things

they’ve said & done

one with three marriages

one a widow for so long

raising five kids between them

men are nothing to them now

they die & leave them alone

& we pretend together

that lust sex & other profanity

is not up for discussion

love is only left for children now

on this final stretch

before home

j’ne regrette

first I ever rode

was an Italian gilera 50cc

that belonged to a good friend

whose name I now forget

but whose yellow & red gilera I never will

I rode it five miles out & back

as he waited anxiously beside the road

& then I shook for five minutes afterwards

the only other time ever did that

was after my first sex

both of these events changed my life

for ever

I was a rider

motorcycle rider biker petrolhead

& never once ever regretted

any of it

in some ways

roundabout seven

she’d called to say

come round see you then

I’ll leave the door open

I was there at seven

well around about it

pushed the door open went in

& she was not there

the evidence of her was there

the usual mess bra’s on light-shades

the floor makeup scattered

mixed in with underwear shoes belts

magazines of how things should be

in some ideal home

I made myself a drink

flicked half-hearted at the articles

50 ways to improve your home

sex life tips

does he really love me? shit

took another look around & left

I was just another bit of her life

carelessly tossed to one side

did I ever go back?

oh yeah the sex was just great

I guess the magazines had helped her

in some ways