Jennifer B

New Zealand

Seasonal Damp Patch

Had the usual
Christmas fuck.

Fed the dogs,
read some blogs,
gave a card
and some money
to my son
who's now
on the phone
to his dealer
trying to score
some drugs.

And now I'm going
back to bed
because the sky
is all rolled up,
wrung out
strung out
in a grey blanket
that's dripping
baby piss.

I'll draw the curtains
and stay under
the covers
where a soft
feather duvet
cushions me
from the impact
of my memories,
until it stops
raining acid
in Auckland...

fucking weird New Zealand Summer,
fucking wanked-out New Zealand Christmas...

For the first time
since I was a kid,
I find myself longing
for a soft,
white Christmas,
a huge, sprawling
wet spot...


This warm sticky
seasonal, damp patch
that I suddenly,
find myself
lying in.

Red Car Collision

Life is a speeding red car,
he told me,
like the 'souped up' Avenger
he used to drive
when he was a kid,
tinted windows
mag wheels,
raised shocks,
a reclined bucket seat...

Back then, he sighed
life had been so fucking sweet.

He'd been,
the invincible one,
a driving force
in a time when everything
had seemed surreal,
Batman driving his Batmobile,
a comic book hero
beating the odds,
out-smoking life
and dragging the shit
out of death.

But now he was older
and these days it seemed,
that everyone he knew
was either dying or dead
and he couldn't get
that car crash
out of his head,
'cause the car, he cried
It's still
fucking speeding,
you know?

And there's no reverse gear
or U turn to pull,
just this tight
gripping fear
on a tank that's still full,
no giving way,
or round-about way
of fucking getting around it.

His Batmobile,
doesn't fly anymore,
but he's still got his
foot down hard to the floor,
pedal to metal,
boy racer,
life chaser,
racing time
in a speeding red car,
without the rings
and things
to blow...

Top gear,
maximum speed,
flesh-cutting metal,
one hell of a bleed,
and for the first time
since he found out,
what he found out,
he has to admit
that all he feels
is so 'shit in your pants'
fucking scared.

..He said that
it's something to do
with age - getting old,
seeing one death too many,
feeling the cold,
doing what you can
to avoid the collision,
making some kind of
fucked up last minute decision,
downing pills,
to kill the fear
and screwing things up
'till you no longer care,
waiting for
the emotional air bags
to blow,

letting it all go...

And It's no big deal,





you forget the moment,

miss out on the climax,


fall asleep

at the wheel...


Twenty five years
of lost daylight,
working in a factory
pumping machines
pushing buttons
pulling flaps
and giving hand-jobs
to cardboard boxes
just to pay the bills,
please the 'Mrs'
and feed
the fucking kids.

Twenty five years
of lost hope,
buried wet-dreams,
no chance of ever
screwing Pamela Anderson
or some other beauty queen
with big tits
and a curvaceous,
Jennifer Lopez ass

Twenty five years of
spent youth,
spent meat,
spent money,
trading your soul
for a window sign
and a wound-back clock
that's fucking up
your time

Gone is the
black, British bike,
whored for a clean, white
Jap-import car
with four fucking doors
and back seat-belt

No more
custom painted
fat tank,
hard balls,
sticky, sweaty, spontaneous
back-seat blow jobs
or handfuls of
screwed up,
Kleenex tissues.

Twenty five years
Only to end up
with your wife,
teenage sweetheart,
the mother of your kids,
fucking your best mate
raping the joint bank account
buying a cheap ticket
to another State,
leaving you
in the same
fucking state
you were always

Twenty five years
with nothing to show for it
but the shirt on your back
and a ring of white flesh
around your finger
where the gold wedding band
once sat.

Twenty five years
of missionary sex
a ten minute fix,
too tired
from working overtime
to fuck with foreplay,
falling asleep
waking up
rolling over
realising that
you're not on top
any more...

Twenty five years,
no longer twenty
pushing forty
losing your teeth
losing your hair
losing your hard-on
and losing your fucking mind...

Twenty five years
from that
to this
for what?
And where the fuck,
with nothing
and nobody
do you go