ONE WAY AND THEN ANOTHER

As we pulled up at the
cross-section, we both
looked left to see two
males, mid 30’s,
standing on the street
corner, embracing
and kissing
each other on the lips:
my wife started
laughing:
‘I know one of those
guys’ I said
‘Which one?’ she
asked:
‘The shorter one, he’s
the eldest son’s of
gypsy Henry’
‘He’s gay then?’ she
asked:
‘Not really’ I answered:
‘What do you mean?’
she said:
‘About a year ago he
was living with a
woman and they had a
baby girl: his partner
starts having an affair with
some guy, he finds out
all about this and he begins
having an affair with the
same fellow whose
cheating with his partner
and it all ended very
messy and complicated
but he told me one
time, that ‘I don’t think
of myself at heterosexual,
gay or bisexual, I’m
simply not fussy’.

WHAT’S UP?

‘What’s wrong with you
this morning? She asked:
‘Nothing’ I replied
smiling:
‘Then why are you
grinning and smirking
rather than the usual
grumpy depressive
frowns? she said:
‘Look, it’s nothing’ I
told her and continued
smiling:
‘You’re putting me on
edge, something isn’t
right with you’ she
said:
‘I’m fine’ I reassured
her:
it just wasn’t the thing
to tell my mom that I’d
lost my virginity the
previous night:
Nothing to worry about Ma’
I told her:
she shook her head,
‘You’re a strange boy’
she said:
I kept right on smiling,
feeling like a fucking
king.

THIS WONDER OF OURS

When I wanted in
everybody wanted out,
I was told to
find my roots,
to follow my instincts,
I am rootless
with hopeless instincts ,
I display my
vulnerabilities in ink,
my strength in pages,
sobriety is a distant
story of mine and I
celebrate this
wonder of ours
with a quietness that
hangs like a
murderer in a
foggy sunset.

FOR HAROLD

He was tough, but he was
fucking dangerous, he
didn’t know fear or when
to stop punching, kicking,
biting or stabbing until
he was pulled away,
so it was, he said, when he
joined the Foreign Legion
and was sexually humiliated
in an initiation ceremony
and he beat and stabbed
the 2 protagonists to
death as they showered:
he was crying as he told
us of this, his face was
wet, outside it was raining
hard:
he was beaten and jailed and
released and made a life
smoking skunk weed
and avoiding people.

John D Robinson was born in 63 in the UK; his poems have appeared widely in the small press and online literary journals including; Rusty Truck; Red Fez; Hobo Camp Review; Rats Ass Review; Down In The Dirt; Yellow Mama; Outsider Poetry; Chicago Record; Horror Sleaze and Trash; BoySlut; In Between Hangovers; He is a contributing poet to the 2016, 48th Street Press Broadside Series.