OSLO

MOIRA AND THE WORLD'S GRIEF.

Oslo that summer
having left the base camp
and the tent
with the Australian guy

 

(he was with the Yank girl)
you walked about
looking at the sights
Moira beside you

 

in her denims
and white tee shirt
and her hair frizzed
after a shower

 

(which she had taken alone
worse luck)
and she was talking
about the Yank girl

 

with whom she shared
her tent
O the perfume she wears
I’d rather sleep

 

in a tent
with a camel
than with her
and her voice

 

fucks my head
and do you know
I've heard about
her love life

 

from the very beginning
I’d rather spend the night
listening to a duck quack
you nodded

 

and listened
taking in her fire talk
her four letters words
filling the air

 

floating there
like black
angry birds
you can share with me

 

any time
well you could
if I didn't have
the Australian guy there

 

smelling of beer
and talking about Sheilas
and how he did this
and that

 

you said
no
Moira said
and have them

 

talk about me too
no I’m not that
kind of girl
besides

 

how would we work it
to allow that to be?  
don't get so angry
about things

 

why do you Scots
get so moody?
it's not just us
she said

 

it's the fucking world's
view of us
as wee tight bastards
when we're not

 

anyway

she went on
giving you the stare
what do you

 

know of Scots?
lived in Edinburgh
for a while
you said

 

nice place
so much history
well there you go
she said

 

anyway what’s that
got to do
with the Yank bitch
and her perfume

 

and the love life
of a fucking rabbit
nothing I guess
you said

 

I think she's over here
studying art
O then
that explains it

 

the way she has

the I-couldn’t-go-a-day
-without- a man's- dick
-in-me

 

kind of talk
and philosophy
Moira said
spitting out words

 

like broken teeth
what about a beer?
you said
chill out

 

and take in a view
and have a smoke
and I can tell you
of my love life?

 

the beer's a good idea
but I’m not so keen
on the tales
of your fuck life

 

she said
so you found a bar
off a street
and sat outside

 

with two beers
and a couple of smokes
and you wondering
how she bedded

 

and how indeed
to get her into your tent
and what to do
with the Australian guy

 

and the Yank dame
and off she went again
moaning about
the Southend

 

teacher guy
did you see him
at the from
of the mini bus

 

giving it all
that talk of history
and that Lancaster bitch
all ears and fucking teeth ?

 

you sat and smiled
listening to her
talking of herself
and the world's grief.

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