Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to grow...
erbacce-press
Two books from David Mac
Away from our Mothers
‘Did you think of me today?’ she asked.
‘I’m a romantic,’ he told her.
‘What about you?’ she asked me.
‘I’m also into love,’ I replied.
‘Love, love, love! I never mentioned that!’
she screamed.
Me and him just shrugged at her;
we only wanted a quiet drink.
Then she said, ‘You’re both a couple of
mummies’ boys! You just come here,
get pissed up, stay a bit,
then wake up and run back to your
mummies!’
‘Our mothers are the
only women we can trust,’ he said.
‘Bah!’ she hissed at us. ‘Well,
what you want from me
this time?!’
We looked at each other
and I said,
‘Two pints of lager and
some change for
the pool table
please.’
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Safe. Sweet
He thinks he’s a ghetto bad boy.
I think he’s a ghetto dickhead.
He’s entered the room and
hovers in the corner as I
get the scales and
cut it, weigh it, bag it.
How much? Safe. Sweet.
Innit. You get me?
I get you, rudeboy!
Jeans down low. Hood up
over baseball cap.
He sniffs, swaggers, and we
all watch him through red slits.
We don’t give a shit, rudeboy.
Now get lost before we turn and
devour you, before we destroy.
All I can say is: there’s
nothing but gods in this room,
and so high up in this tower block
you’d think it was fucking heaven.
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To purchase this book click on the cover opposite or if you use PayPal add it to your orange shopping cart.
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