John D. Robinson - 3 poems

NEW YEAR DAY GATHERING

‘Why are we
bothering?,
every year its
the same’ she
said, looking
irritated;
‘I didn’t invite
anyone’ I said
‘I don’t give a
shit about
seeing people, I
don’t give a
fuck’ I said
‘I don’t know
what’s wrong
with you’ she
said;
and I think of
a Dan Fante
poem wanting
to dig his
woman’s heart
out with a
spoon, but I
don’t mention
Fante and said
‘It’ll be just fine,
just like it
always is’
she looks at me,
a feint smile
threatening to
break across
her lips.



PICTURES

He had learnt that
the place was empty
and a valuable print
hung inside;
we forced entrance
easily, we were drunk
and noisy and clumsy;
it was a dark and
damp basement
apartment, but we
could see that there
were dozens of
pictures upon the walls,
we hadn’t expected
that, we were
expecting, just the one
picture;
he decided that biggest
was best and he took
hold of a 8”x6”
framed picture and we
went on our way, with,
as we were to
shortly find out,
a Woolworth print of a
Constable painting,
not worth the price
of a shitty bottle of
wine.



CARE WORKER

‘I’m just going to
take a shit’
is what I thought
he said, nodding my
head;
in fact, what he said
was
‘I’m going to have a
fit’
as he tumbled head-
first down a concrete
staircase.
‘Oh shit ’ I whispered.