Breath of the Salesmen

They come like blisters
At an all night diner,

Shoes off under the table,
3am,

All biscuit smelt
And sugar rushed,

The new polluted,
Scarred and neutered,

No-one else can see them tricksters,
The smell of rising fumes and whispers,

The fag ends that dance and the leaves
That blow in from outside.

You were made to moan and sleep,
Now there’s no time for either,

A weary face that curdles menus,
Consumed by work and worry,

A hundred hurried swallows
And the dolly looking waitress

You’d lick the floor to fuck.

They come like a tap on the shoulder
That feels like the wind rushing in,

Makes you check for
Hurried heartbeats and sweating,

Upsetting memories,
Seventies decor
And the caffeine reflux

Calling your name.

Once again,
Time for bed.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: