Control and Related Psychopathologies

September 12, 2017


Saw a bald guy cruising casual in a tattooed vest

Thought it was Bruce Willis

He maybe thought he maybe was Bruce Willis too?

And saw Beyonce’s perfume feted in the local news

An avalanche of scent orders just hit the town

I tried a shellsuit on and strutting out went playing the dude

I don’t know why they pointed, laughed, at me, do you?

My neighbour posted a parcel, a bereaved’s remembrance wreath

For a BBC soap character killed-off by the thought-police

The actress twitter trolling had upset the production team

And then last night I kinda suffered an hallucinatory dream

Wherein I had foreseen a resurrected Elvis

Break dancing with a limber Freddie Mercury

Was going home from a local wine and tapas bar

I saw them as I urinated drinkng in my car

And it’s hard to remember who has died and who’s alive

Seen so many movies, told so many lies

And the drugs and drink they megashake my head


Can’t remember who’s alive and who is dead

Richard Branson’s gone I think I heard it said

On the Internet and so has Hanna Barbera

I read it so it must be pretty true

In the paper at the dime shop in the late night shopping queue

Till the guy in front got shirty – and he shuttered off my view

In downtown Newport it’s as crazy as LA

Apeniks half-nude there wear a disarray

Make modish tears in trousers volunteering to display

Their ass, with crotch around their knees, on skinny pipe-thin legs

Looking like it wasn’t long since they got up off their beds

And there’s fancy ladies walking, clutched petite hands holding bags

With favourite brands in brilliant hues splashed everywhere – like bans

And as they walk, raising their heads, a little self-assured,

Up-toss their airy noses trying to cut a pretty style

Treading all tiptoes, as if avoiding ice

The loungers’ looks the fishing hooks their vanities entice

Here any vagrant just might be a fashionista

Except his eye is blackened and his teeth are broken

Or her lank greasy hair’s compacted to one solid chunk

Like a worn-out cleaning cloth or else a bolster cushion shrunk

And here’s another - she's on a motor scooter 

The circulating Newport Town Exterminator

To get to pole position for the off she’s honour-bound

To take no prisoners stamping a supremacy

Then, lo, she dismounts, walks into a shop – the shock!

How good is that, these couch potatoes float around

Like Davros glide; approaching do not make a sound

All-out for kneecapping their victims in the way

But their own persons hale, and strong and lethal in affray,

Lounging around regardless glad to motorise their prey.

And here’s a guy who parks his car right on the main walkway

Direct outside the store he gets his liquor from

He’s more than 20 stone, a flabby feedbag filled with guts

And never walks more distance than a bloater

To circumvent his car the shoppers work around the traffic

Skirt past his 4 x 4 blocking the path 

The goon he reappears loaded with beers eating a pastry

And in a rush he’s eating messed and hasty

He dashes past, starts engine, slams his door, bang!, really hard

Careering off at speed gas pedal treaded to the boards

And then comes by an old man who is dressed up far too young

Wears chains around his neck his straggly hair is loosely hung 

His rancid leathers an attempt at attitude

But no one laughs nor even blinks at this decrepitude

A Ronnie Wood-like clone, a neural circus clown

The guy’s stuck in the seventies; with a brain like thistledown

There’s women here who also like the younger-type outfits

In supermarkets looking like a debutante mess

From fifty years ago wearing a glamour party dress

The years have snowed upon their dizzy heads white wispy hair

Miss Hannigans all living in the movie Annie

With daughters old enough to be a body’s granny

All this as if the passing time were virtual

As if one might deny the death by being dressed in purple

And just deny the facts approaching lifetime’s end…..

Encroaching age, a sign to think, reflect, and mend,

A signal which behoves a person live life sober

As model of surrender, and a light to others

A thoughtful age gets wisdom and bears useful fruit

No strolling round as if one were still young and cute

But making due provision, looking forwards, using time

Not as a lookalike - you don’t do pantomime

You put your things in order seek to set your mind at rest

Prepare yourself anticipate the inevitable test

Ask clothing meet for heaven - to become a Wedding Guest