Small Talk and Excuses

Anything is possible,
Anticipating static in an old town dwelling,
The reaction to realised reality,
Could amuse,
May very well subject me to giggling,
or perchance blubbering like a small
child falling from his new bike.

Since once again you have oil slicked yourself,
pasting to my mind and hard to wash off,
What emotion if we realise a cohabited meeting room?
Amongst boisterous chitter-chatter and smoky air?
Naive to rely on heavy disguise, I doubt your ageing,
compares to my fake moustache and novelty glasses.

Igniting old boilers, dormant in their poor state of repair,
I doubt an engineer skilled in speculation,
at such a late hour,
More prudent to throw aside, don’t allow children
to play with matches, feelings become flammable when warmed.

I’d prefer to put my shirt on a pointless ignorance,
A smile may suffice, an elaborate result,
staving off relegation to the unknowns league.

If your compulsion lies in idle small talk and excuses,
Spare a thought for those less fortunate,
who’s mothers deny conception, and fathers
blend subtly into the bric-a-brac of local drinking holes.

​

Memories are pheonix-like in their existence,
Just waiting for that stage cue,
Bring an extinguisher to this party,
You may well find its practical nature a saving grace.

1999