By Les Wicks
His family are in the flat downstairs
packing all the stuff from the big city.
There’s a bit of damage but the bond should be OK.
I’ll never be a landlord though — luckily no renter anymore.
Moved past the oldest obligations
they were meat hooks & leaves.
My only chore now is to repay the air.
I touch base with his brother
tatts & piercings, reckons Toby
will be okay safe home with his mob.
Ask if I can lend a hand.
Toby & I did the same job 40 years apart
those canary tiles scrubbed clean of Saturday vomit.
He earned good money, much of it going back up north.
Did I help, these last six months? Were we friends?
Maybe 25, he’ll get beyond this stumble —
still got prospects.
You ask for mine
I’ll laugh. Beyond all that nonsense
to focus on last debts — past time
passing time, passed time done my time
in the penitentiaries of ambition.
Mends & amends
a few more great nights
instalments epiphanies back-work.
How little how much
will I leave behind me
like Toby’s surplus furniture out on the pavement.