My Father was an average achiever

adult art black and white group

Photo by Mikes Photos on Pexels.com

In places that didn’t matter to people who didn’t matter

skinheads paint-sprayed their names so they mattered to Julie is a slag

but I was the keeper of clouds making art from the ripped denim sky.

 

I never mattered to myself for the chrysalis was my second skin

you can live for a day until the day repeats itself and you are man,

you can die for a time until you smash a watch and see its makings.

 

I am much like my Father who watched sky unmade by manic pistons,

an average achiever who turned up at parties adding water to Sauvignon,

a man who pissed standing up so he could turn water red like a crap Jesus.

 

My Father was an average achiever who shouts orders to men in his sleep,

he breathes like a Haidenhain at full pelt and produces parts of his secret life.

My Father is an average achiever yet he made me when he was nearly broken

 

 

 

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