Gruntle.

It is morning almost one
I reach out for it
fingers fumbling 
first in a satsuma of haiku
then in my glass of false tooth
my gruntle is gone.

It was there last night
I remember distinctly
smiling fondly at a childhood memory
before removing it
and dousing my thoughts
with the light.

I search the world but 
everything I find
convinces me that
I'm disgruntled.



 
 
 

gruntle. v. 1938, in gruntled "pleased, satisfied," a back-formation from disgruntled. The original verb (early 15c.) meant "to utter a little or low grunt."

Trainspotting at night.

Beside my bed I keep a little book

in which I jot down the details of
those trains of thought which
travel nightly the subconscious network.
Occasionally it will be the midnight express
screaming through nightmare tunnels
(its headlight mimicking hope)
towards oblivion.
But more often it is a
benign milk train
with it's churned up cargo  of memories
stopping regularly
at the village halts that
line my past.

My nights spent
supine upon an embankment of pillow
counting wheels
marveling at their locomotion
but no longer curious
about their destination.

CROSS DRESSING

I have no say in the matter
it's all chosen by them
the colour, the fabric
the length of the hem
the style of the collar
the cut of the tights
the straight jacket baby-grows
with ghastly highlights
accessory garments
for the accessory child
are hardly condusive
to the babe meek and mild.

I hear all the time
that I am a blessing
so why do your best
to make me so
CROSS DRESSING.