There was a time

There was a time

When I got heated over stupid things

There is something in that old saying.

Every day,

Pushed my bed against the wall

To stop it.

Bumped my head a few times

Senseless really.

Things got better when I was sober

Divorced and responsible

And I met the one.

Before that

When I thought I could write

And spent all night awake

Over a song

A poem

My first unpublished play

Had the gall to send it to a director

I knew

Written by hand

Almost illegible with all the crossing out

And overwrites.

She liked what she could read

Advised me to type it up

Double spaced

Leave room for notes

And comments from an editor.

She was just being kind

In her own way

A gentle rejection.

I couldn’t type

Thankful for the invention

Of correction fluid

By Mike Nesmith’s mum

Post-it notes were by somebody else

But he had a hand in MTV

And the Repo Man

He was down in Rio for a while

Dead now poor fella.

Dolenz was a circus boy

Before he was a Monkee

They were all a bunch of comedians

Without a punchline.

I lost my temper somewhere

And couldn’t find it

Which was an improvement,

Life was better that way.

I guess I was happy

Grateful to be undead

Didn’t know it

Not straight away

But when I began to sleep well

I made sense of myself.

She made sense of me

Which was a new experience.

As reminders

Stuck post-it notes on the fridge

Notes in her pockets

In her purse

She put them on the screen

Of my laptop

It was cheesy

But I wasn’t complaining.

Eight years since she’s been gone

The waking nights

Made a slight return.

I was a voodoo child

Spilt the wine

Fumbled with the bottle

Lost the cork

Until I got a hold of it

And remembered

How far I’d come

From where I used to be

And stopped sliding back

Into the mire.

Dug my heels in

Held firm

I guess that I’m

A cling-on now.