Gareth Writer-Davies

by Horror Sleaze Trash on July 7, 2013

 

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Gareth WD is a fool to himself as well as to others. Based in a sunny English county, his hobbies are growing veg and keeping his grey eyes in focus. His ambition is to never cross the equator. Widely published due to the poor judgement of editors, he thanks Ben John Smith for accepting the following…

Louvan.deviantart.com

 

A HOT DAY

 

a beaded door curtain made in Thailand

and my sun burnished neighbours

sporty around the barbeque

living their loud lives

none the wiser

-and why should they be-

to my pale summer nakedness

pixilated with heat rash

cannot bear the heat

-it brings me out in a sweat-

not since the hot summer of ‘76

when the air smelt of softening tarmac

lawns smouldered

blood boiled to steam

and Dad

did what he did

which we don’t need to talk about

not here

it’s our business

so here we still live

like two peas in a pod

snug as bugs

us two

only trouble is

the heat never leaves this house

and the beads bar the light

though not the flies

it takes all my time

killing the little buggers

-I’m quite a marksman

could have been a sniper-

just my little joke

I lie

dead to the world

or would be

if it wasn’t so hot

and the neighbours

-in the hot tub now-

weren’t so loud

and the flies

didn’t stop and start

and if Mother didn’t fuss so

I could have a duvet instead

I lean back

close my eyes

and think of Thailand

and hope they do things differently there

 

 

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IN THE REALM OF THE SENSES

 

never sit down

comfy with wine

and in the realm of the senses

watch a film

that clarifies

with your softly spoken intended

the nature of your relationship

whilst you point out

that the narrative is hard fact

and yes it appears

that they did

she is fetching her coat

though not for reasons

that you suppose

she remembers

afternoons in the Ashmolean

sketching in pen and ink

the buttocks

of a Greek

who though chipped away

was all man

returning

to her student flat

she locked the bathroom door for three days

and emerged a new woman

it’s always the quiet ones

who look like Madonnas

and scream

the house down

waking policemen

three streets away

though not with you

and especially not on film night

 

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