On A Full Moon

He came into the main bar
looking for a trout farm
and an uncle who owed him
more than a month’s wages.

He couldn’t play darts
and kept on about, how the mounted kangaroo head
had the same sour face of the bully
that whipped his legs with nettles years ago after school.

One good reason for living
is better than a thousand dull ones
and the first drink of the day
so much better than the last.

Once walking to work through Marshgate Lane
I discovered a gutted salmon, next to a broken red stiletto
and a cheap set of rosary beads, so close to art
I called the piece The Priest’s Last Confession Before He Jumps.

Approaching me that day a man with a bag of watches
close to tears pleaded for a sale. Broke and not needing a watch
I wished him well, trying to ignore the blood speckles on his funny white
shoes like the eggs of a rare bird an ornithologist only dreams of.

<<