Marvin Gaye Dug Prostitutes

Marvin Gaye dug prostitutes / he said.
I know / I said.
Sigmund Freud dug coke / he said.
I know / I said.
Lennon got high and Cobain and Coltrane…
well, Cobain and Coltrane were on heroin / he said.

Don’t you think I don’t know / I said.
Well / he said.
What do you think / he said.

I think / I said / you got to shut
your goddamn mouth.
Genius is far stronger
than human laws
will ever realise.

He became angry.
Have you no morals / he said.
Have you no mercy / I said.
We looked into each other like two spirits
in a fandango.
It was so intense that time stopped ticking.

Eventually he said /
if you have no morals
then neither do I,
and he reached over
and kissed my woman
full on the lips.
Now that’s some cheek.

I guess the same
can be said about mercy / I said,
before cocking my gun
and shooting him
down.

No-one can say he didn’t
have it coming,
you just don’t do
those kinds of things.

And it’s strange how
some afternoons can be so much more
interesting than others
even when you never planned it
that way.
This, I guess,
was just one of them.

Airports

Airports.
Waiting at the carousel.
Faith in the human spirit
but still a bit
worried
that someone might have
rifled through
your travel bag and
stolen your shoes.
Collect bag.
No visible signs of entry,
believe in people again.
Find the taxi you ordered.
Wait for others in silence.

The taxi driver is on
his own schedule,
not yours.
Grit your teeth
and tell him / no, it’s fine Signor.
What an inconsiderate bastard
he is.
What inconsiderate bastards
they all are.
You’re late
but no amount
of apology
is ever going to restore time.
If this is the route
of service
we’re all for it / you think.

Cars backed up.
Sun is hot.
You want to kill something
or someone.
There seems to be a severe
lack of order
in a day so seemingly
well planned.
Do your business.
Talk shit,
oh hell, everyone wants
to talk shit.
You can’t get away from it.
Shit, shit, shit.
It’s not important /
you want to scream,
but nobody listens
or maybe it’s just
that nobody hears.
Taxi waits outside.
It’s time to rush home.
Rush home.

What a day.
You just make the flight,
people are staring at you
for being late,
inconsiderate bastards,
all the overhead compartments are full,
so you sit cramped
with your hand luggage
under your feet.
You get home just in time
to make
the peak hour traffic
rush.
To add –
O.R Tambo airport is a mess,
you have to pay
a third world salary cheque
for parking
and there’s an accident
at the Edenvale off ramp
involving a truck of live chickens.

It’s dark
when you pull
into the driveway.

And the best part is
you get to do it all again
tomorrow.
And that’s how it will be
until the day
you die
if you’re not careful.

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