confessions are self-serving

Tag: childhood


When I was a nipper
I used to love to watch the rain
rip across, along
the car window as we blasted
up the M1 towards Doncaster,
endless rivulets and patterns
dancing, swinging with the lull
of brake and acceleration,
countryside dark, barn shapes, bales
street lamps deep orange
in those days, something poignant
between the in and the out,
Beatrix Potter scratchy on cassette,
heater cooking velcro shoes,
and out there, the night
always magical, darkness,
the universe mirrored
in every glittered drop,
no want, nor need
to catch the feeling
in a net of words
or analysis,
t’was merely life
being lived
one breath
to the next.


One time when I was five

When I was about five years old

I told my sister, “I’m going behind this chair

to draw a picture”

The armchair had a material flap at the bottom

and I lifted it up

took out my penis

and urinated

There were files under there, paperwork

I opened up an ocean on them

those papers

that I couldn’t read or understand

life insurance

mortgage agreements

they took it neat

maddened, incensed, instinctual, it flowed




When I was done I said to my sister

“That’s one picture finished”

and trotted upstairs

to do whatever

five year olds do