Some **** from Preston

It is blistering my ears

high-pitched pig squeals

and then moth bitten hands

clasp beer and belly

and bumble like bees


and tarred, or barred?

down on her knees

giggle or grunt

at forgotten women

or not so much


but beginning to forget

with each sip and peck

at pint and pie

like pigeon and fly

she is distant

and disgraced

so he can

have a good night.

Pretty little mess

She’s got that pretty plastic house

To match her pretty plastic chest

And a man who spends my years wages

On a pretty tight black dress

So he can rip it off her

And tie her to his desk

And with blunt tools he moulds her

To make her look her best

And she’s happy sitting pretty

In her pretty broken dress

Blissful in her misery

Pretty little mess

And everything’s pretty perfect

Until you ask her why

She’s pouring pills in vodka

Asking God to die

Silly pretty girl

You’ve made a silly little mess

You spilt some of your cocktail

On your pretty little dress

And now your pretty husband

He’s thirsty don’t you think

So how about you share

Some of your pretty little drink


2 pints


I’m thinking about the spit on my boyfriend’s cheek,

And how he doesn’t lift his arm to wipe it even though he knows it’s there,

And I’m thinking about the pressure of the glass on my lips,

And what would happen if I pressed a little harder,

And I’m thinking about you of course.

I’m thinking about the warmth of my coat, his coat,

And the cold at the end of my toes that I can only feel when I think about it,

And then I’m thinking about you again and I can’t feel my toes anymore.

I’m thinking about how close her arm is to his,

And how it’s hypocritical for me to burn when I see them touch,

Because I’m thinking about you of course.

I’m thinking about the couple across the garden,

And how they haven’t spoken once in ten minutes,

But have found an hour’s worth of kissing in that time,

And now I’m thinking about you of course.

I’m thinking about tomorrow and I’m thinking about tonight,

About whether I should leave early or stay for another pint,

About what my friends would say if I went right now,

‘Come on, stay for one more round’,

I’m thinking about my options and how they aren’t really mine at all,

And I’m thinking about you of course.

An introduction to alcoholism


You wake, sip, then force

The thick chemical clog to the back of your throat

It sits persistent in dipping skin

And cheek pouches

Like a rodent, you ponder

Spit or swallow

And as she slips

And skips down oesophagus

Forcing her bulging, wrinkled body

Into deeper holes

Deeper hopes

And steeper slopes

She numbs your brain

Body and brain

And numbs the pain


She rests momentarily

Before your stomach

And lurches in chunks upwards to heaven

Tonight’s dinner:

Casserole and rice and bile

She makes your cheeks blush

And hairs stand on end

Sweet lumps of plaque

And yellowed paste propelled

But forcing it down in heavy gulps

She continues her journey

To cancer-ridden joints

Where she makes her dwelling

Your blood her bed


And in the aftermath

She lingers forcefully

In tongue grooves

Beneath and between teeth

Peppered and salted

Plated and served

Your heart rate is jacked

Lip’s bittersweet, and temperament cracked