Black Eye For The Lover Who Wasn’t


Black eye for the lover who wasn’t
the best pool player in the hall
nor the confident kisser;
or that smooth guy in the sack.
For all he knows this punch in the face
is the alarm clock he needed, but couldn’t stop.
But it could be that medal he never won
in that race he never started in
or the goal line he didn’t defend.
To us, street corner cooks, it’s
embarrassing to watch.

We look away and change are mind
to something distant and far more kind,
yet still retaining a glance,
a stare,
out from behind comb-over hair
and from under electric light glare.

He’s yet to build an emotional fence
to break up the break ups
and split up the realities,
that he finds himself lost in.

Animal soup fortnight,
shit armour for a shit knight.