once again, i find myself in a relationship with a character from the beat generation

this is about my ex-boyfriend. it’s a bit embroidered, there’s some fiction amongst the fact, and it’s all in completely the wrong order! it’s also about a certain kind of stereotype / cliche i guess.

he is long-legged and slim of stomach

with sharp ribs,

has a liking for chain smoking spliffs,

telling outrageous fibs

and never, ever showering.

he is the ideal height –

still a kid inside but in a man’s size,

so that, onstage, i forget my fright –

worry more about him,

his fear of normal people – and formal situations;

like theatres, yes,

but also banks,

government-run institutions,

any decent restaurant and…

of course, all employment-related places.

he prefers the peripheral;

the crumbling buildings, urban wastelands,

a good old graveyard, all glass covered, so you’ve got to be careful,

watch your arse when you have sex on the headstones,

for example.

it goes without saying, i swoon;

he is a fine specimen,

all rugged, rootless and booted

rescuing fruit and veg with his dogs

and surviving on left-overs from tesco’s.

i lollop along. he swaggers.

we trail white lines of washing powder from the bin

all the way back to a squat

with no washing machine.

we wade through so much shit in each other every day,

i wonder – when did we become such a cliche?!

he’s in a love-affair with a

not-yet-purchased van,

wants to set off on the road

with only water and not stop till *africaaaa*.

instead, he has cycled on an upright

wicked witch of the west style

bicycle, all the way to wonderful,

wonderful, Copenhagen.

but at least now i can laugh at this:

the rebel tattoo on his ribs in indian ink,

which he said was actually RE-BEL,

and also the one on his ankle which red ‘ana’,

that he always said he wanted to change to ‘banana’

but of course, he never did!


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