Two Poems by John D Robinson

THE PROFIT

‘I don’t care what you
write anymore, no, I
don’t mean that, but
everybody is making
a profit out of you,
don’t you see it?
tell me, whose the mug?
they publish you, right?
they send you 5 or 10
copies of the book
and you give these away,
right?
but the publisher, they
sell their copies, right?
but that doesn’t bother
you does it?
‘Right’ I said
‘Right’ she said.

 

____________

 

THE OLD FRIEND

She never knew of love,
the way she imagined it
would be;
it wasn’t being beaten
senseless by a speed-
freak or laying on the
streets unconscious as
the wino’s pissed and
masturbated over you
or of losing children
to hospitals and prisons
or knocking on the door
of an old friend; fragile
and vulnerable and of
how, that night, he
cared for you, looked
after and comforted
you and you offered
yourself to him but he
played it away and
rolled another joint
and when he handed
you the smoke, you felt
something as your fingers
touched, he felt it too but
neither said a word,
looked silently at one
another and relaxed into
a smile and then he
moved away, put on a
Miles Davis
disc and uncorked
another bottle,
both of them dare
not let go of what
and how they felt and
later she left by taxi;
next time he saw her,
several weeks later,
she was being
cremated.

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2 Responses to “Two Poems by John D Robinson”

  1. Good job, John

  2. More highly personal & emotionally moving stuff by JD!

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