A scotch ale,
The grown-up lemonade;
Sweet amber lager and hops bite.
A blonde and a brunette in conversation,
the French-Canadian twang in Nelson's central hub,
a cackle of laughter behind the wall where tables and guests converse.
A cackle loud
and cracking wonders,
if this is my aunt - her piercing laugh
Splits eardrums in half,
But all is meaning well in her heart, and like my mother's emotional love
Should I be drinking with these drugs in me? It is light medication, but one does need to be careful. I remember once before my life going down the toilet because of
a whiskey binge,
up in Auck-l'nd,
but the meds were much stronger then. Much stronger.
How the swirl of the toilet bowl pulled my life down with it. There it went. There it went.
Pizza is here, and it smells good - it smells beautiful. Beautiful!
Would we click like magnetic links?
Would we draw each other's energies
Together in explosive sync?
Would we collide and dismantle
The rules of engagement?
What is our connection,
Our thoughts of dissolution?
Our Sunday wandering,
Picking trees apart with dendrological assassinations.
Musical repetitions burning out our ears until the cymbal crashes the verse to enter vocal explanations, and our bearded friends make their hipster proclamations from around the millennial corner where we shut the door and pretend to ignore the pleading cries as though they were any different from the generations before.
- 20/05/18, Nelson