How You Might Know Me. Sabrina Mahfouz
feathers for life’s prime slots.
scott closes his marked eyes, spins sylvia dreamily
she trips on the rug corner, her falling arms knock
the lamp right over, broken, she knew she’d be
whispering feathers for life’s prime slots.
taking vouchers (sylvia)
thing is though, we take cash, I mean it’s always been that
way. You know how people say it’s always been that way,
well what they mean is, it has always been that way. Stars
studding the sodding sky, that’s how it’s always been. The
KFC geezer having some creepy old tash, that’s how it’s
always been. Women getting money for men to do what
they need to do so we can do what we need to do, how it’s
always been. You come along with a voucher card telling
me there’s twenty quid on that for Argos, start listing all
the things I can get from Argos, like I don’t know what
you can get from Argos, is not how it’s always been. You
must think you’re onto something brand spanking new
here, you must think you’re showing proactive innovation,
but mate, let me tell you, what’s always been, will be.
Those stars don’t start shining on sludgy seabeds just so
you can swim through the night, do they? In fact, you
know what, by offering me these vouchers what you’re
basically saying is that this service, my highly skilled, let
me add, service is not as important to you as,
another life basic like, electric, cos I know you’re not
gonna ask the man in the shop to swap leccy credits for
that stupid football trophy you’ve got stuck to your
dashboard with superglue now are ya? But if I asked,
what would you rather go without tonight, me or a bit of
glow in your hallway, I know you’d want to get my talents
and hold a candle when you get home, so you know,
priorities mate. You have got to prioritise in this life,
otherwise you just end up in the dark regardless.
Talking of which, I do need a new lamp for the living
room,
so go on then, just this once.
school gates (sylvia)
if you want to catch a quick death
stand outside school gates smoking a cigarette.
if you want to make it particularly speedy
then I’d advise making it primary school gates,
ones where kids wear caps shorts blazers ties
you know the type of gates I mean POSH.
if you realise you don’t really want to die,
shout at the gates I’m older than you’ll ever be so yeh
step to me, show me what you got, bet it’s less than a dead moth
I could bury you under these gates and what would you do?
getting all ghetto on them might gain you a few months
or alternatively lean on the gates with fag in enervated lips
point out the dad that picked you up like milk last week
say, oh phillip, I didn’t know you liked these back gates too
watch the folded eyes divert to the microscopic, marvelling
whilst you smoke undisturbed at the gates, grandkids running over.
cognitive behavioural therapy (sylvia)
Replace the negative with a positive.
This is all that is needed to rewire the brain.
wanna laugh in her face
wanna say oh babe bless ya
with ya pencil skirt
and ya ironed blouse
and your years of studying for something that,
excuse my language, is a load of absolute pissing shit stains.
My brain is gonna take more than some bloody positivity
to make it hang amongst the sparrows
and that’s ok I don’t mind
don’t try telling me that all this ‘yes I can and yes I will
and I deserve I deserve I deserve’ Oprah Winfrey bollocks
is gonna leap me into a place full of fantastic opportunity
where lungs are pink and snails sing harmonies,
I mean I’m too old for all that crap.
Instead I smile, alright, great, yeh, thanks.
She gives me a dark green notebook,
asks me to write down every negative thought
replace it with a positive one,
or at least a positive answer
to a negative question that plagues me,
such as:
Q. Why won’t my daughter speak to me?
A. She lets you see her kids, your grandkids, those roses.
Be thankful, be grateful, be happy. I am happy,
like the legs of a table.
Q. Why didn’t my parents try to find me?
A. They trusted god would look after me.
I have an inhaler, but I’m breathing, they were right.
Q. What if I rip my skin of and find
I’m made of cement and steel?
A. You won’t. You bleed red, bleed blood, you know that.
You are not a construction site.
marriage proposal (sylvia)
scott heard his mate steve’s missus
do a birthday speech for him at the pub
his whole heart felt treacherous
limbs stranded in ice-filled bathtubs;
all because he’d never dented knees
to ensure his name sounded with hot coals,
scott must tell sylvia she’s more than quickies
under duvets, more than rants and rigmarole.
in the kitchen he proposes with a white ring
made from rizla, he’ll get a proper one in time
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