I Should Have

Shivers beat
as the body screams aches
into the air surrounding,

can I go on - do I care to
as my whole life
is directed to this moment.

Early morning nowhere,
the phone rings
in my mind -
exhausted by defeat.

Then a light lifting spirits,
a smile is played.

An old run-down diner,
looking like Christmas in June,

it spills broken baubles
and black snowy grime.

The door opens, creaking
like old father time’s stare,

eyes adjusted to the night
deepen to this gloomy scene.

Empty and fallen,
‘cept for the waitress and cook,
idly watching reruns of old ‘I Love Lucy.’

They break away eyes
and stare in casual acceptance,

as if they get people here
every minute of the day
screaming for hot-dogs
and burgers and oily coke.

"Got a phone I can use, please?" I ask,
adding the please as an afterthought,
you just don’t know
do you in these backwaters
if a missed polite word
could kill you as soon as look at you.

The waitress smiles -
her teeth gravestones
with dead flowers lining the gums,

and points to the back,
where if shadows could get any blacker
they’d shut the light of existence
from anyone venturing into their corners.

"Wanna urder" she spits,
I guess she means order,
so I ‘urder’ a coffee
and make my way towards the phone,

the cook’s eyes have
never left my face so I am glad
for the reprieve as I think
of axes and small body parts.

There it is -
I think I have time-travelled!

Can I remember
which letters are numbers,
well if I could see the letters
clearly it might have helped,
but a phone’s a phone 1 2 3
so I think - yeah, just go for it
and get the hell out of here -

even my cold skin and clothes
are shivering from this atmosphere,
it was warmer in the rain
that threw candy at my eyes
as I bowed to the wind.

The receiver sticks grime
and dust to my fingers,
dare I put it to my ear,
maybe I should have used a cloth!

But it’s too late now,
I let it hang just next to my ear,
don’t want something
crawling down the line.

And what do you know -
it isn’t even working,
thoughts swear blind
at the back of my head
and I sigh before that axe
I was thinking about earlier strikes.

My head explodes,
pain mingling with bits of brain,
- glad I didn’t bother
combing my soaked hair - I think,
it’s funny, I laugh, what the hell,
why am I thinking like this!

The phone - receiver now dangling
beside the non-existent dial-tone,
punches me in the face
as I watch the blow land squarely.

- Oh well. At least I don’t have to explain
to the wife why I was so late -
another mad thought, who’d have thought
that dying would be so humour-filled,

the last thing I ever know
is a foot pushing into my back,
I presume it’s to get the axe out,

maybe they’ll cast another blow,
but by then, I won’t care.