Alphabet Soup
a)
Posing in the mirror with a knife.
Stealing from my mother’s purse.
Stealing my dad’s cigarettes.
My psychologist makes me draw
pictures of screaming people.
I don’t feel anything, I am a dragonfly
butting the walls in a seizure
of supposed self-punishment.
I am always in trouble
riding my bike in the rain.
b)
I would give my best day
back to the sky to remember
that trick where the Ace of Hearts
appears under a chair on the
other side of the room – to be
“That magic kid down the street.”
c)
My best friend is teaching me
the names of his favourite fighter planes.
I saw his dad strangle him
my friend made a sound that made me
think of the time our dog Bruno
choked on a sliver of balsa wood.
My best friend’s bedroom is full of model
planes and ships. Obsessive. Reassuring.
The world at war is very real to him.
When he punches me on the arm
I remind him that his mother
ran off with the Italian down the road.
d)
My first drink – a pint of cider
through a speckled straw, my mother
cusses my old man in the kitchen.
Upstairs my bed is travelling
full steam across the Atlantic.
When I get to wherever it is I am going
I imagine first I’ll be sick and then
I’ll fall asleep and in the morning I will
have my first pubic hairs.
e)
Burning my stuff in the garden.
Burning anything that burns.
I am fire because I miss my grandparents
I am fire because I can’t do maths
I am fire because everything is so boring
so flammable I’m willing to oblige.
Her name is Ashling
she doesn’t even look me in the eyes.
f)
From here eighteen is a long way off,
mum says I can do what I want
when I am eighteen. I make a list.
My dad’s dad died. He woke me
up in the night and he hugged me
and cried like a lost child. I thought
I dreamed it but this morning
his blue jumper was still
damp around the shoulder.
Eighteen. I say it to myself and it joins
other fantastic words: sex, grownup, sex,
freedom, sex, money – until it arrives
I occupy myself with mourning.
g)
Last night was amazing
but I thought I would feel different
like I’d be given some kind of superpower
or know things I didn’t know before.
I don’t think I’ll see her again.
My dad took one look at my face and said
“You got some last night didn’t you?”
Well, she took something from me
and I wanted her to have it but now
I kinda want it back.
Next week the career officer is going
to tell me to decide
what I’m going to do with the rest of my life
* Bobby Parker's debut collection Pictures of Screaming People is avaible now from Erbacce Press http://erbacce-press.webeden.co.uk/#/bobby-parker/4538061853 “These poems are heartbreakingly honest moments of loss and survival, full of fine rhythms, surprising humour, and ambitious imagery. A powerful new voice.” …Joanna Ezekiel
