Two Poems – Gwil James Thomas
October 14, 2018
It’s the crucifix on the hilltop –
now silhouetted against the sunset.
The dead pigeon on the road getting
flattened again and again.
The room that’s now far too hot to sleep in,
as the sun still lingers
in these sultry Spanish streets.
The giant of a man dressed in a clown suit
casually wandering up to the dumpster as he
looks inside it for god knows what,
before he takes a piss against it and glares at me –
as if the scene’s nothing out of the ordinary.
It’s the bar across the street that’s beckoning
me in now, as I search my pockets
and count five Euros.
The saccharine smile of the barmaid
that’s welcoming at first –
but fades rapidly when she has
to count out the shrapnel I hand her.
The crisp untouched beer
that right now speaks more sense than
any self help guru.
The slouching back in my seat taking
whilst that first sip,
thinking fuck it there’s always tomorrow –
Tofu Lunch Poem.
Back in the kitchen,
thinking of the one
that got away,
trying to ignore
the news on the
television set –
I boil pak choi
with the noodles,
fry the diced garlic,
and chilli in the pan,
adding the tofu –
it’s so white,
and falls apart easily,
I scan through
on the kitchen table –
a final warning payment/
and some junk mail about
a new dirty and delicious
looking burger –
but the farmyard
can rest peacefully
as I’m cooking a tofu