JOHN D ROBINSON – THE SLAVE

THE SLAVE

In the back-streets and
public conveniences, in
amongst bushes and
bus shelters, in
abandoned buildings,
slums and plush
apartments,
she’d give head and
hand-jobs for the price
of a bag of heroin,
Joanna would sell her
clothes, her self-respect,
her dear mother’s
soul, her father’s
eyes, her sister’s heart
for a bag of heroin,
she’d blind the sun,
confiscate the moon
and rip the blood
from your veins
for a bag of heroin
and she did
until a fucked-up
batch of heroin
beat her down
forever.

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JOHN D ROBINSON – UNNOTICED

UNNOTICED

I’ve left the best of my
poetry unpublished,
to be discovered after
my death: poems about
love and betrayal, of
drugs and alcohol,
poems about cats, of
their majesty and
mysterious wonder,
of living in poverty,
of fighting and
fucking and of family
holidays and abortions
and rejections and of
loss again and again.
I’ve left the best of my
poetry unread,
to be left in the hands
of those more gifted,
more driven to the
love of life to ever
let a single moment
go unnoticed.

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