The Straight and Narrow
I’ve been chatting away
With a schiz-o-phre-nic
On a bench in my head
Over drinks that stunt speech like gummed glue.
He said to never go down
That road I frequent
Or else be the devil’s pet, on a leash, quite Pavlovian.
"Stay on the straight and narrow, with your Flymo hedgetrimmers,
And God will hence reward you”
(With Teflon washing-up cloths).
"They’re after me": the aristocracy, the Jihadists, the reich.
I’m just waiting for the bullet from the SAS
because I patented those big hands you wave at baseball.
We buy some Gold Leaf and a couple more cans,
And sit at the bus stop because it starts to rain.
I ask for his Popsydipsychaloprams,
he takes down my number to get him Cocaine.
Though we exchange digits, handshakes, “I could kill you’s”,
We both know that we’re getting
the straight and narrow path,
Instead of the wolf’s.
I keep going down at night to the bench to see if he’s there, but he’s not,
And he leaves voicemails from ‘unknown’ now.