The second one here, it's not really a confession of awfulness or a glorying in youthful rebellion, it's just funny to think how antisocial one's been at certain times in one's life, and the awkward pride one takes in it ...
and i thought "I could be such a prick" is such a silly line, i might as well use it twice
COLL
The ferry slipped from Oban early, full
Or fullish, brisk or briskish. Out on deck
I braced and stretched, past Tobermory, pulled
My winter jacket round my sunburnt neck,
Felt wholly bullish, polished off a tea
And basic bacon bap, felt fresh and fuelled,
Watched the Olympics, claiming kinship, free
To daydream, frame euphoria as renewal.
I did run pretty well. We started by
The harbour, in a headwind meek and mild
Though at ten miles the gale came in, the sky
Turned black, the roads arose, the cows turned wild.
My ankle twisted on a cattle grid.
It was my prime. I didn’t mind. It did.
TOLO
Those pioneer days, I could be bold and rude,
With scowl set, legs spread, crumbs spilt down my front,
I’d stamp and sow seeds, stop and start new feuds,
By crying loud “What’s a cri-de-coeur, cunt?”
In crass defiance. I could be such a prick,
A graceless martyr to unspecified
Fresh causes, contradicting myself sick
on spartan fury and Socratic pride.
I could be such a prick. It’s funny now.
I’m hardly sorry now. I spoilt and strived
For dignity and vim, not knowing how
To keep a dash of basic grace alive.
Apologise? I wouldn’t dream of it.
I’m still, at heart, a noxious little shit.
No comments:
Post a Comment