RIP Chris Bell d.24.08.87
A decade mislaid since his
lingering disappearance
then Latin’s alphabet surfaced
across a white stone – struck
below a dusty Israeli suburb
Ness Ziona stands over him
He had jumped his rusting ship
another twenty years before
leaving a trail for investigation
How he ever got to Tel Aviv
ending up an eager volunteer
only him and God now know
sharing – as they do a bench
slumped – stalbet – in a cemetery
under high apartment shadows
you you spoke far too soon
’bout your last sandman
’bout that last sandman
’bout your spare fuck man
you you spoke far too soon
’bout men and squirting sex
and bad sex in warm rooms
you you spoke far too soon
’bout a man ’bout your sandman
’bout your sniffed white lines
’bout men limp in your bedroom
you you drunk you you drunk
in a bar with a man not Oman
with a man whom you you knew
a first cousin on your account
first cousins count as last lovers
you you spoke after five hangups
you you answered five before were
five unanswered lies after lies after
you you gave it a week a week
post-valentines after your card
cards swapped rarely by you you
control-alt-delete you you soon
In another waking moment –
with five AM forcing light outside –
my conscious breath found
an angel’s littered question
How many of my earliest
friends are – still – alive?
Coruscating queries – lit fears
address us slightly older men –
of loss of crowning thick hair
oh – and recent deaths of muckers
Bill baulked at Paul Simon’s song
of ‘old friends sat on a park bench like..’
I had one pal hang himself
and another fall from a height
whilst others have taken to tumours
and less humorous routes off
My hairline is still a low-set feature –
light verse on such matters suits me
Ageing is that earthing and digging
forcing us all to bend under groans
as we push on equal spade widths
on that same cost of soil to everyone
No dead human kept his riches for long
They will clear your grave of treasure
A wise Israeli once advised me
Do not make it your precious métier
to outlive everyone in your world
No one will be left
to be impressed – לילה טוב*
*Goodnight
I scare sheep
far too easily
to become
a true Welshman
Affinity with any
wandering mutton
does not seem
to suit me –
apart from that
solitary ewe
in a cold field
in Llandovery
Enough said
for now?
