He creeps down the hall
Of a regular 2 up 2 down
Like a cat he saw one time
On a David Attenborough show.
There’s a Darth Vadaresque sound
Coming from a bedroom upstairs
Getting inside his brain, overtaking him,
And because he’s scared of Darth Vadar
He thinks of nothing but Darth Vadar
(Black helmet/Black cape/The dark side)
‘Koohhh-Kuuhhh’
(Black helmet/Black cape/The dark side)
‘Koohhh-Kuuhhh’
(Black helmet/Black cape/The dark side)
‘Koohhh-Kuuhhh’
And his own lack of personal power.
-No-one ever said to him,
‘The force is strong in you.’
His sphincter widens a little
Forcing him to re-focus,
Tenses the muscles of the anus,
Remembers what he’s he for.
But the hallway stinks.
Embassy Red, Regal Blue, Bells whiskey.
The ceiling overhead is yellow,
Painted slowly over years.
He creeps down the hall some more,
Like a cat he saw, and addresses the fridge.
(Wants to have a look inside, see what’s revealed)
(That’s what he does/Irish stock/Big family/Not much money)
(Gets to know people this way)
It’s like opening the case from Pulp Fiction.
He’d never seen a carton of orange juice in his life.
Never tasted that happiness.
Imagine.
A poor boys idea of riches.
The man from Del Monte told him so.
He squeezes the carton a little
Gently opening the scissor cut slit
Feels the cold air rising and
Trys to imagine what this will taste like.
He licks his lips,
Tenses the muscles of his anus,
Clenches his buttocks,
And dives on in,
Lips first.
The first thing he notices is the taste.
It’s not right.
Something’s not right.
His belly burns.
He feels like farting,
Or shitting,
Or puking,
Or buckling.
Mind scrambling,
Reaching for truth,
Gag reflex activated.
Retch.
Retch.
Retch.
All in silence.
He never asked his Nan why she stored vinegar in that carton
of orange juice.
