Somebody called

Somebody called

I didn’t hear it

The phone is on silent

Who calls these days?

It was from a guy called Charlie

I don’t know a Charlie

Was it a euphemism

I don’t know

I let it go.

It was nearly midnight

The moon was stealing

The mood

Bleeding through the branches

Of a leafless plain tree.

Skeletal

Spindly limbs

Waiting to grab onto a

Late night rambler

Nobody should be out there.

It is a skinny thing,

Bare arsed and naked,

But come summer

When it is full of green

It will be a heavyweight.

The blossom will have fallen

Cherry trees look forlorn

In July,

So much for flowering early.

An old woman

With a gap-toothed smile

And a sparkle in her eye

Once said, as I slipped a fiver

Into her outstretched hand,

“The early bloomers

Wither sooner,

And I’m in full bloom now.”

She squeezed my hand

A little too tightly

For comfort

It is a wonder I remember

As I was three sheets gone,

After a night to forget

Chasing a dream.

Propped up against the glass

After a difficult conversation

With a woman

About a bed for the night.

She wasn’t best pleased

To be a second thought

After a skinful.

Who could blame her

Perhaps she was called Charlie

I can’t recall

But at least she answered

Which is more than I do

Anti-social bugger

That I am.