Dont look now

[Jerrybaldy]

Dancing
Backwards
It makes sense after a certain age.
I have been told that profanity
Cheapens poetry
F uck that
I would have said
Were my hand not over my mouth
Whilst dancing backwards
Like a fifty year old twat
Recapturing something that never happened
Never will.
Hand on my mouth to keep the bile in
And send it back.
Poetry produced has the value of semen
On the bedsheets of somebody
You will secretly think you were doing a favour for
Whilst they think you talked them into bed
To find stupid f ucking words
Instead of sex.
It's a gorgeous morning
Afternoon evening
Such a
Very very good one
One of the very best
I ever danced backwards through.
Take my sweaty hands
We can waltz
Whilst gravity compacts our spines
Old age f ucks us stupid
With an arthritic phallus
Between dry wise bones.
Love me though
Love me lots
Make me a cup of Yorkshire tea
Hold me to your
Teat.
Institutionalize me
Realise
It's no longer me.

[Hawkman]

Given the title, I was half expecting a red-caped, knife-wielding, Venetian psychopath to pop up somewhere; maybe Julie Christie or Donald Sutherland ;) But no, we are given the ageing lothario's lament, raging at declining powers, and poetry as intellectual onanism.

For all the trademark JB expletives, this piece actually trips along rather nicely and has some vividly creative imagery. I think one of my favourite lines must be:

"We can waltz
Whilst gravity compacts our spines"

but it's all a diverting read.

Live and be well - H