Harry O by John Doyle

Crowds of people congeal outside pubs on Friday evening dressed for battle,
I am safe here on this bus.

Some cyclists cut up through the slipstream, it is like those non-sequiturs
differently massed from side to side in a plastic coal-sack in an eternity that does not recognise time;

I am not safe with this knowledge,
this only increases when I look behind me and nothing exists any longer,

the last five hours filling laundry bags in the emergency ward,
a smile from a Japanese tourist so desperately longing to merge with local customs;

the side-streets may hold all the answers
but I can’t afford Harry O's fee.

I disembark my sadness from the bus, walk back 20 years and present myself,
ready for battle.

Later I recall that Harry O gave his services for free.
Too late, I'm on my fourth tequila and a Valkyrie of cyclists swoosh past grinning.

 John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.