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Strange encounter

February 13, 2020



Pot Boiler




He sat




Wired up


Shirt like Ken Done vomit


I fell into his catchment


Before grasping how pissed he was


Soon to be the pall bearer


Of his streamlined vitriol


Carried conveyor belt like


Into my awareness


As the wards of vengeance waterfalled


Smashing on rocks


Creasing his face


My curiosity waning


In line with his rising


Retribution to Be


‘I’m the Neighbour from Hell’


He declared


Following it up with bouts


Of ‘cunt, fuck and bitch.’




I downed my one and only beer


Faster than intended


And left him to


His volcanic sprout


A man of intelligence and money


According to him


Which I did not doubt


And his barrister’s business card


Flashing the promise of tomorrow.



I didn’t wish him well


No matter his position


Current or future


Nor ponder his outcome


As the bunny was already boiling


Which undoubtedly leaves


The flesh scarred red


And leaves behind


A stinky residue.









This was based on a real incident, as it sounds,


but I can't recall the details. More than likely, I wrote the poem that night.




Hardly a Love Poem but once upon a time, people did meet in bars. Does it still happen? Is dating apps the only way to go? Is Romance dead? Love to hear your thoughts.




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