Sonnie Eventually Makes It Only To…

We’ve all been touched, a bad start,
necessary, those early years,
centuries old, it’s time to catch

up with the Times, a killed Paul McCartney, a Lennon giving us Kant
up his sleeve, rolled up (they’re still at it, praying
that is) if
there’s a stream there’s a sea, a hole,

oh no here’s a waste of time
and a drop, a filter, a manoeuvred Web-
er: Ick! Don’t take that! Only
they’ll be concerned

when the mains start to come through: we went out for dinner
and saw everything grotesque beneath us
on the wall-to-wall rug at sea-level on the drive in, the waiters
bringing us our food, cooked—covered—and most importantly
smiling for us: we had a great time. Look

but don’t feel down: It was such fun
we said. My father was a working class man
was also said, as was some knowledge
from those that said

that everyone knew I was in a mood

just as they decided so. So I went all Heideggerian! which wasn’t effective: my date

left: It is like
I have known you before. It is like you have been here for sometime, said the waiter,
the trickster. Who clearly wanted a tip! So I gave him one

which was just like the Romans, like a coin was on my watch—a touching
present

that I bought myself with my inheritance; yet still

we wait and long
for the early years to drip away, hungry in our streams

drowning? Drowning. Come back!