MY TROUBLED MIND

confessions are self-serving

Tag: addiction

Another self-centred poem

I tried
being a deadbeat alcoholic
junkie,
the nights got longer
and the world darker
and much smaller.

After I tried
sobering up,
drying out,
walking, watching
the dogs, the ducks
play
envious of their glass-eyed
peace.

I began to meditate
and things did quiet down,
I look more kindly
on the dogs, the ducks
now, not that they care
either way
of my opinion.

They’re safe, I suppose
on that Other Shore
while I thrash
and sometimes drift
against and sometimes with
the current, studying
much too seriously
the shadows in the shallows.

 

Quest for the Holy Arches

We searched for them at ever increasing speeds, around every twist and looming mountainous turn in the road. “There!” screeched Sam, grey about the face. But no, it was merely a blossoming tree, or the flash of a possum in the headlights, or some such unimportant tripe. Eventually we found one though, about one hundred kilometres into the journey. We were faint with hunger and malnutrition, our eyes half shut, vision blurred and unseeing. We staggered into ‘Donalds in what felt like a half remembered dream – elated, giggling, mirthful. We ordered a combo meal not even on the menu – 2x Big Mac, 2x Cheeseburger, 4x Fries, 4x Coke, for $20 – How’d ya feel? I feel great, and excellent too at the peak of my physical prowess – wooping and getting real pumped and jacked as well-

We puffed our chests out, suddenly the weakness had left us see, and made short stamps in the lino – now towards a cretin getting a little too playful with his happy meal, now stomping in the direction of an elderly woman just here for a cup of black tea – but she looked at us strange an’ weird like, see? We waited and waited. 

It came in a huge box with ‘Family Dinner’ slapped on the side. We loudly proclaimed “Our little Sally will enjoy this” and “Gavin will be happy with his chips!” and other such bald lies that in our desperation we hoped veiled the fact that no children would be sharing this meal. The box was heavy and felt like it contained a human head. I lifted it as high as I could and turned, when we neared the door, mumbling, my voice shaking with emotion, “T-thank you ‘Donalds, I love you, I love you, I love you -“. I composed myself and began some unknown sermon of celestial gravity. I am proud to say that many of the workers stopped, put down their meat patties or cardboard cups, and listened attentively, some even going so far as to place their hands on their chests and whisper “Yes, he’s right, we’re doing a good thing here…”

Sam was on his knees, sobbing in a dry and agonising way. I daren’t put the box down to help him to his feet for fear someone would snatch it away, so I left him there in the filth like a common tramp.