the arse-blood blues

 




in bed on my own doing no more than the usual things  
and the dog sleeps on the floor down beside me  
more than certainly doing his share of the dog-stink  
with no thought for his effect on my piled-up clothes  
while I lay in the dark  
and worry about my arse  
cos I got the piles  
got them hemi-roids;  
like grapes out my arsehole  
an old mans illness  
and women too  
yeah pregnant women get them  
 
not sure if god is looking or even laughing  
but either way  
fucker has done me good  
with the kind of illness  
you can’t mention in polite company  
 
god and me are funny like that;  
I live my life  
while he/she/it does whatever the fuck  
and nothing happens either way  
 
 
 
I’ll probably die from arse bleeding  
or laying in bed ignoring arse bleeding  
and they might say “fuck, why didn’t he go to the doctor”  
then they’ll remember that whole thing about god  
and realize it wouldn’t have mattered  
 
seems like bleeding from an orifice is about right  
bet even kings have died like that  
but people didn’t write the story down that way  
told it prettier  
told it like he kissed his wife  
and baby and dog  
and then expired with a wish for his countrymen  
when really they just wiped up arse blood  
and pulled a sheet over him  
 
so yeah so well so what I might die like a pauper or a king  
same thing  
and I smile for that  
then I lean an arm out  
from under the warm covers  
and the cold bites it  
while I pat my dog  
 
he seems to like it