CRAVY

CRAVY

They would come over to play, especially in the summer. Whilst my brother was busy fighting with Jimmy, I would hide under the bed with Holly. Holly and me would innocently investigate each other, and not having anyone to report to, I would mentally store my tentative findings for future reference. I don’t know what she did with hers.

I liked Holly, she had the best mouth and a soft voice. She asked me things. She never shouted or got upset like I did. She was comfort.

Her hair reminded me of breast meat on a roast, the blonde strands through my fingers instead of the tines of a fork. I knew it wasn’t complimentary to say your hair is like cooked chicken, greased as that was with connotation, but to me the thought was soft and warm and all I had for comparison. Still, I had the sense to keep my mouth shut. Not that I needed to give compliments. I was after nothing. 

I think of Holly on occasional Sundays but since my Nan died nobody cooks up that memory as much.   

3.5 MONTHS LATER

THE STARLINGS OF SAN ISIDORO

THE STARLINGS OF SAN ISIDORO y SAN LEANDRO

Prologue

On a forgotten street way out from the city centre is the last church of our county. Or the first for any visitor. It borders on the river and the pirates that live there. After that brown water there is fear for us, for we know the pirates but we do not know what they know, or how they became friends with fear. And after the fear are the unknown places which are so unknown that we do not fear them. And after that, then, maybe there is something else. And maybe that something else is also not fearful of us...

But before all that and back here on this street is the church of San Isidoro y San Leandro. It was a place of tradition and welcome for some. A place of hiding for others. Sanctuary they called it. Safety.

It is an old church of an older faith. The people who built it believed in things that I only call things because I do not know what they are or what they mean. No one goes to the church anymore but Father Matthieu still lives there in hope. Although he is not the only one.

Behind the broken wood shutters that cover the belfry of the brown and white church lives a family of birds.

So what? You say. Birds! Who cares where they live? What about the pirates? Yes, I can understand. When I was younger I too wanted to hear of pirates and musketeers and bandits and kings. But listen to my words that travel through the air to your ears, words not bound to earth or caught by sea. This is no ordinary tale of piratical men and their material treasures. Pah! We have heard of their lives and bloody deaths a thousand and one times! These birds… These birds are more than ordinary birds. Why?
Some say the birds are blessed. Some say they are fearless. Some say they have stardust and rainbows in their feathers, that they sparkle at night whilst owls are nearby. Some say they are just lucky or stupid. They say these things because nobody has ever seen the like of them before, not here and not now. They are unknown and they live. They are the starlings of San Isidoro…

SHRINKING LIBERTY

BOWERY DIME MUSEUM

I've seen a bearded baby here

That never made the news

Unlike the fearless lady

With her daily tattooed shoes

I heard tell there was a politician

Who smiled without a tooth

She was just invented yesterday

So appeals to this year’s youth

There are newborns every minute here

There are punters by the score

Mods obsessed with yesteryear

Are always back for more

Lots of freakish normalcy down at The Bowery Dime Museum

All expositions for a dollar you should come and see ‘em

There are eunuchs’ sons from antiquity

In virgins’ daughters laps

And two faced tv presenting monkeys

Who offer each other claps

Lots of modern freakery down at The Bowery Dime Museum

If you perchance can spare a dollar then you’ll get to see ‘em

Roll up here for the bombardier, armless in his trousers

See the Kaiser’s wax moustache tackled by some Scousers

Underneath the trestle are mice as big as cats

And once inside the armoire they procreate with rats

There are cage free Wall Street tigers

Exclaiming carpe diem

But you'll be safe

They've got the dope down at the Bowery Dime Museum

There’s an elephant painting tables

And a pig that waits your easel

There’s a stoat in a coat

Created by Zeus

And a naked lady weasel

Lots of yadda yadda

Down at the dumdy dum

You should pickle herring

It’s possibly more fun

There’s salad that’s eating models

There’s fags that are smoking butts

There’s sex starved Sheeney on his hole machine

Siphoning his nuts
Paradoxes down on the Bowery
That give only one way to read it
You may be the Earl of Big Fuck Hall
They'll call you a feckin' eegit

Lots of smoke and mirrors

Down at The Bowery Dime Museum

You’re not worth the price of entry

If you can’t even see ‘em

MULTICULTURAL SQUIRRELS OF TOMPKINS SQUARE SHAPED PARK

A crew of dark eyed juncoes

Quarrel in the trees

With ubiquitous old world sparrows

And a banditry of chickadees

Call to their sweeties

Beneath a boil 
Of hawks
Yet we do not care

For the air

Under foot
And we get on with anyone

Anytime

Until dusk

WANDERING POET - RIHAKU

DRINKING ALONE BY MOONLIGHT

by Li Bo

花間一壺酒。   A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;

獨酌無相親。   I drink alone, for no friend is near.

舉杯邀明月。   Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

對影成三人。   For he, with my shadow, will make three men.

月既不解飲。   The moon, alas, is no drinker of wine;

影徒隨我身。   Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.

暫伴月將影。   Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave

行樂須及春。   I must make merry before the Spring is spent.

我歌月徘徊。   To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;

我舞影零亂。   In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks.

醒時同交歡。   While we were sober, three shared the fun;

醉後各分散。   Now we are drunk, each goes his way.

永結無情遊。   May we long share our odd, inanimate feast,

相期邈雲漢。   And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the sky.

translated by Arthur Waley