A • S T R A I G H T • S O N G by J.C Hawkes

 recall now 
that 10 years 
have passed by, 
Since the Mayan 
calendar came 
to its end. 
It was the last 
time I was dating 
younger women 
- I stopped 
giving up 
drinking -
And I was seeing 
an older woman 
Called Josie. 

She preferred 
that I didn’t drink, 
as she was a 
hopeless drunk 
She hadn’t eaten in 
months and cared 
only about children 
as her daddy tried 
to shoot her when 
she was 5. 

I fell deep 
for Josie 
she was 
so 
fucking 
difficult 
to be with, but I 
was only a 37 yo boy 
and she was 48 yo
blonde bombshell 
who went off 
in the sack
and she 
wasn’t 
shaved!

It was a long journey to 
her house a 2 hour train 
we got together 
on a scent, 
she was a
Sagittarius
We drank vodka 
like it was water 
and we never 
left the bed. 

Then, she started eating, 
she started inviting 
her daughter’s 
boyfriends 
into her bed. 
They ate all the 
food I bought 
for her 
and she would 
come up with new 
explanations, new 
versions of the truth. 

I stuck around of course, 
as she had the best vinyl 
collection and then 
I went off with 
her eldest daughter 
She had just turned 23
and we never gave up smoking, 
Like her mamma wanted us to. 
We ate at the pancake parlour 
at 3am, all hours of the early 
morning making friends 
with the local 
creatures 
and getting 
the phone numbers 
of attractive bisexual 
women who wanted 
both of us together 
and committing 
sin in the 
name 
of Satan. 
She was a witch 
you see - and 
She drove a green Celica. 

We both liked owls & heavy metal 
We had the greatest 
meaningful 
conversations 
and she looked 
up to me for 
safety. 

All of this ended, when 
I wanted my own flat 
a new religion 
and money in my pocket again. 

But, when I was done,

I was done. 

Now resumes, the straight song. 

J.C Hawkes  - is an alien who arrived on this god-forsaken planet in the territory  of AUSTRALIA - in the middle of the decade he’d have preferred to been of age as to party with the poets he admires to this day. The Burroughs’ and the gorgeous Patti Smith, the Ferlinghetti’s and the David Bowie’s ( in his Coke Daze) - yes! the dirty filthy 1970s always suited his fantasies.  He was of age in the 1990s instead and somehow survived, the day that fuckin’ Kurt Cobain died! By discovering Jim Morrison, he never did care for teeny bopping lights. 

Now in his later years, he is approaching 50 and he is quiet and reflective and writes pages of poetry daily about his memories he actually lived. While on the inside he only ever wanted to write books, grow an old man beard and live in the mountains in a cabin built for one.   Grow old and die there - this would be fine  - by me.