Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Clock Watchers In The Woods

It's my first memory of social embarrassment. I loudly proclaimed my older cousin Barry “sexy” and brought the pickled onion crunching crowd to a glowering halt. His shirt collar was open over his  jacket collar, his hair was slick with Brylcreem. It passed for style in those dismal days and I'd confused style with sexy. I have no idea where heard the word before but clearly it was a faux pas.

Years later I remember an Alzheimer's patient – an old school proper gentleman - pointing at his visiting daughter shouting “she sucks my cock”. Painfully embarrassed his daughter turned to everyone and mouthed, “I'm sorry.... I don't”.

My imagination conflated these episodes.

Clock Watchers In The Woods

Cloth ears? Her ill fitting teeth?
What did granny just gabble
at the gathering?
The voice above the rabble
Stopped the chatter and the babble,
Granny said there are cock
suckers in the woods.

Everyone looks nervous,
coughs and shuffles, muffles giggles.
Talk shifts to the weather;
Mother squirms and wriggles,
smiles politely, tugs his tresses
then to avoid his guesses,
whispers sotto voce,

Granny said clock watchers.
She gabbles often garbled.
What she mutters hardly matters
since she's lost her marbles.
Dad, who'd be watching clocks
or washing socks
this late at night?
She uttered sucking cocks.
What's it mean?

Whisked away swiftly,
unjustly and unwilling,
fluster and kerfuffle,
A tug-o-war to bed -
tuttering and trilling,
But to no-one in particular
he said -
Christ that little fucker's
on the subject of cock suckers
and he just doesn't seem to
want to let it go.

© Wreck of my old self productions

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