Prologue
A sandwich of meat and in-between
a little bit of intercourse- intercourse being
communication, communion between
the sexes, human beings and god
and should you think my observations
somewhat …mean …wait for the epilogue
a taste of an ending to The Longest War
male and female, we are more alike than not
we just forgot where we came from!
Fresh meat 1.
There’s a new guy in town
And all those flying solo
perk up …Oh did you know…?
They gossip excitedly with hopeful delight
in the fruit and vege section of the IGA…
aah he’s probably gay! But secretly feel…
that he might just be the man for me!
they sigh and they swoon
as though it’s just spring
and the world is lovewonderful.
Maybe this time, this one’s for me
maybe this time it will be…
“The One”. The One.
Friday comes around too slowly
Babysitter bought in to mind the kids
Just until the pub closes, maybe until one
Oh this yummy mummy just wants to feel
Young, again, and free, if just for tonight!
She dusts off her g-string, her jeans are too tight
She showers and shaves; moisturizes and plucks
oh tonight she feels that she might just get …lucky
but worries about her butt – does it look big in this?
and the other flaws that naturally adorn her female form
which the media has her convinced he won’t adore.
But she closes the door on responsibility
though in the back of her mind she knows this bloke
will roll into town and down to the Fedo
for a cold one or two, and nary a thought
for his past, for his issues, his growing beer belly
the fact that his daks are a little bit smelly!
The girls are off the vino tonight
It makes them too messy, and slurry
and gin is too maudlin, but vodka is good
if you have it without the soft drink and all that sugar!
You know where that goes! Straight to the thighs!
And all their eyes are on the street
The loud ones laughing loudest
Then at last he arrives, vaguely aware
That for once in his life he’s in the wake
Of attention, as five pairs of eyes
Size him up!… to the beat of their hearts
Is he the one? Is he the one?
Ah but a good man is hard to find
We’ve all made mistakes and though longing
For love and intimacy, companionship
tenderness, a kind reality; we all know
we’ll probably settle for a drunken grope
a pash, an inebriated shag, a one night stand
and to hell with the consequences!
I can see he’s a player! but god dammit
It’s been so long, it must have been a year!
So right now I’m pissed and I want some lovin’
And though you all know I’m worth so much more
If he picks me I’m leavin’ through that door
And if tomorrow I take a dive, I’m feelin’ low
The blokes shot through, he had to go
Please don’t say I told you so!
Intercourse
It is a source of unbearable shame
It is profoundly spiritual, beautiful
It’s a sweet game.
It draws us together, it pulls us apart
a curious intimacy, an opening heart.
It is an itch, an addiction, ritual, routine
comedy, tragedy, a marketing dream.
It is a comfort, a joy, an unholy terror
a giving, a taking, an absurd messy error.
A surrender, an attack, a weapon of war
a deep, deep longing; a strange foreign shore.
A desperate grappling, twisting and twining
liquid merging, limb locking, sighing and pining
for it, the catalyst for life.
It is a need, a blessing
a contract, an exchange
a performance, a dance
a clumsy embrace.
Disappointing, predictable
dull or bon chance!
timid or bold, awake, in a trance.
In the morning, at dusk, afternoon delight
sunday siesta, ecstatic or trite
it’s a casual fling, an exciting fiesta
it’s hot n’ heavy, it’s so cool
it makes you want to sing
… a corny love song!
And, maybe, just maybe…it could be
a way to the gods.
And maybe, just maybe!
It can be the highest expression
of love.
Fresh Meat 2.
There is a new girl in town
and the men who congregate
in the tree lined street
grey haired and skeptical
over lattes and morning crossword
take note, as though it's justspring
and the world is lovewonderful
They look like pirates waiting
for their ship to come in, biding their time.
She's young, barely twenty
and only has the one kid
wearing her London funky clothes, clunky shoes.
Skinnybutcute.
They stumble into her orbit like dancing bears.
They will perform, they all have their routines.
The regulars have seen it all before
and watch with rolling eyes as the girl is charmed
by their small town eccentricity. Ringins all!
“You're delicious “he says, ”fascinating
I could eat you up!
I want to get inside your …head
I want to know you better, you're
not like the others, I could fall in love with you...”
He touches her like a dog marking his turf.
The small, still voice of her intuition
is tugging at her skirt, but she is
lapping it up, lapping it up, lapping it up!
So intuition is getting loud and sassy
“ Girl, girl! are you green?
are you really listin' to this?
girl you KNOW where this is goin’ to end
you know, what I'm talkin’ about
uuummm hhmmm ! That's right!"
Unlike the city men in their shiny cars
smiles shiny with rampant ignorance
stifled only by their neckties, C21st emblems of slavery
and the gods of consumerism who would lead you
into their chrome and leather bachelor apartment
feed you Charlie and cocktails...
These country ringins will astrologise you, ply you
with organic fine wine, after dinner talk, tantric promises
Buddhist chants, yogic flattery as foreplay
I am your guru goo goo ga joob!
But they all end up in the same place
men, on a couch
their hands down their pants
watching the box.
Epilogue - Musing
In nocturnal reverie
smiling at you through the open door
you shunned my mute sympathy.
How precisely we missed communication.
Again.
So when you accuse me of being provocative –
inciting lust, inciting war
I bow, heavy with sadness
that ruthful beauty, contrived to please
in form, colour and sway, is merely ritual, for…
the nameless flower in my heart
cannot articulate the scent of compassion.
My condolences, you fear a siren
who may devour your hoary carapace
eclipse each conflict by the by
commiseration, from a pure source
that has nothing to do with gender
where you will understand what I try to say
beyond what I have said
in another language that has no duality.
I supplicate, Mister muse.
