John D. Robinson

THE OPPRESSIVE ONE

‘I find it oppressive  when you
don’t talk to me, I mean, 20
miles and you’ve barely said
a word to me, it’s uncomfortable’
she tells me, driving to work,
it’s just 07:30, my medication
hasn’t yet kicked in and
smoked just one joint and
drank one cup of tea and
talking bullshit small talk
isn’t my kick anyways but
at this hour it’s way beyond
my interest or energy, even
from the one closest to me
in this world:
‘What shall I talk about?’
I ask her:
‘I don’t know, something’
she replies:
Did you know that the
Ostrich is the only bird
that shits and pisses
separately’ I said:
‘Fuck-me!’ she screamed,
shaking her head and
welcoming the silence
that followed.

THE PUNCHES

I’ve thrown punches all my life,
at parents, schools and colleges,
employers, friends and lovers,
rules and regulations
which didn’t make for a good
soldier:
I’ve thrown punches at the sky,
into water and punched straight
through them,
causing no damage, no sign of
hurt, a shift of pattern upon
the water’s surface, a broken
rhythm but nothing more,
a natural reaction to an
incoming force that becomes
that surge without
resistance,
honest self-expression,
taking it’s shape
as it happens.

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