NaPM April 15, 2018

[Keith]

Accidental damage

The cold, beer-cellar bang of a daytime night club,
sticks to the stale ale carpets and painted purple corners,
dark enough to mask the faint smell of bleach and vomit.

But at night, the lights writhe in a snake pit of colour,
sweat arcs the air like blood splatter patterns,
tunes revolve the room. Fuelled by shot glass harmonics,
inhibitions burst in Prosecco bubbles, before they fall flat.

Outside behind the bins the exit sign
dims and glows above a drunken clash
of teeth and hips, stricken sailing ships
split masts wrapped around the midriff.
Below decks the crew blindly follow orders,
shot loaded and fuse set, a single cannon
seperates the wrecks.

The kitchen sink clutter of a dank tiny flat
clings to the smell of damp washing and nappies,
hard enough to hide the false smile of a teenage lament.

But each day, the walls peel away to reveal a darker stain,
he bought her flowers with the first pay cheque, they hang
as a reminder. Fuelled by a cry from a cot, and a worry
that if she starts to shake she may never stop.