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by Fraser Duncan
Bored with You
I’m kind of bored,
not so you would notice
as you are busy doing your own thing,
whilst I (only) dream
of having a fling.
I’d prefer it if you would
…well…just…
fuck off, really.
I think I’ve had enough of you
and your ways.
You’re still doing things
that I gave-up long ago.
Too much alcohol
and too many drugs
make Jill a boring old bitch.
I think I started to notice
how much you bored me
when I started to notice
how much you stink
of stale tobacco and unwashed clothes.
Of course, I could acknowledge
that I was once the same,
but that would take away
my current (and I’d say)
well-deserved air of superiority.
I no longer need you,
you’ve passed your sell-by date
…and you know it.
The way you whine and plead,
I think you need to bleed.
I recognise now
That you’re not simply
Going to go away,
But I’m pretty determined
That you go and I stay.
With this in mind,
I sharpened the axe.
Just letting you know, dear.
I think I’ve had my fill…and so…
It’s time to make your blood spill.
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Nothing Else
Nothing else needs doing.
These other things –
they are not priorities.
No! Just because they are usual!
Why does that matter?
Writing is what matters.
Nothing else, no, nothing else!
Your house decays around you,
your children lie neglected,
and your dinner remains uncooked.
These things are nothing.
Nothing else needs doing.
Nothing else needs saying.
People lie starving and dying.
Why is that my concern?
I have pen and I have paper –
better still, keyboard to hand.
I need feel nothing,
think nothing practical.
Why bother about learning?
Rubbish keeps piling
and disease keeps spreading.
These things are nothing.
Nothing else needs saying.
Nothing else needs thinking.
What use is my head?
No, wait, that’s not right.
There are some things need thinking,
and saying and doing too.
Children, friends and education,
poverty and disease,
death, destruction and war.
Much needs to be done,
and said, and thought through.
These things are everything.
Nothing else needs thinking.
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