Incident
this old bald Scottish guy
in the cafe me looking at
him as he talks and my
mind is saying I could kiss
him why that I don’t know
and then he takes me to his
sea front terraced house
in Gatehouse of Fleet
my wife’s away
gets me oh so drunk
on whiskey and then
bed and he’s why not
just saying he’ll get in
beside me
in the morning when he is out
getting stuff for breakfast
I check his wardrobe
no wife’s clothes
next it’s the guy who drifts
his hand from gear stick
to touch my leg
let me out
I so missed Simms and
Speedy that night sleeping
in the roundabout long grass
where that slimey groper left me
call on John Wade in London
go to some writer’s flat
typed manuscript of
meaningless
sentences
two tickets for the Isle of Wight
festival in my pocket but go
back home to Belfast
miss Jimi Hendrix
find Simms has
gone to Turkey
without me