I have seen things you do not wish to see,
in any theatre, not even in war. Together
we have seen & done what few could ever
imagine, even inside these dream machines.
The men emerging from cubicles with their
dicks hanging limp & out. Or the couples
fracking with impunity by the dance floor.
I knocked the glass of Nazi liqueur from
your hand just for kicks, & then ordered
another round. O it felt good to slosh my
boots in the sticky stuff, to the tune of
that song about Barbara Streisand. Truly,
we're lucky to be alive (these eye-popping
times, when men & women of all ages flock
from the outlying villages towards naval
bases at night. The beggar’s wooden hand,
washed clean by rain & piss. A mini-golf
course, winking at us all with its eighteen
darkened eyes. I hit you, a drunken man
admitted. I hate you, I replied, only half-
joking. We laughed but as he walked away
he whispered bastard & I had to follow him
to the cubicles - just to sit him down &
finish him off. I have done things you
would not wish to do, in any theatre, not
even in war. And I have done them all in
a Swedish sports bar to which you'll never
be admitted, not even after we have gone.
I have smashed myself upon the cool marble
floor of Stars & Stripes but you'll never
find a single shard of me there. Call me a
foreigner, call me what you will - but touch
me again
& you fracking die.
