dog-ended 

you stupid piece of fuck meat, I told her
and smacked her tit. I don’t even love you. 
you love me though, don’t you? 
uh huh! she nodded. 
why? I asked her. 
because I’m a stupid piece of fuck meat! she said. 
atta girl, I slapped her tit some more …

afterwards we passed a cigarette back and forth:
I don’t think I liked that, she said, staring at the ash.   
don’t worry, I’m not saying you raped me or anything. 
I wanted to try it too. I just mean, it’s not for me.
she held out the smoke. is that ok?
of course, I took it off her. sex is about communication.
we’ll do what you want next time. and thank you for telling me how you feel. 
she hugged me as I toked on the last of the dog-end …

I’m pregnant, she said, pressing her heel into my scrotum. 
urgh, uh, I squirmed. whose is it?
your brother’s. and you’re going to raise his baby, she said
twisting the heel. won’t you?
urgh! yes! I said. yes mistress! 

I enjoyed that, she said afterwards, taking a deep drag. 
can we do it again? 
if you want, I said. 
she laughed.
what? I said. what’s so funny? 
but I don’t think she heard me.

I adjusted the bag of peas between my legs 
and waited for her to pass me the smoke. 

Baseball Before the Apocalypse

Cluster of bodies, soap
bubbles at a Cubs game:
1983, our bicycles shackled
to poles outside, entwined in

a steel snare. To saw through
tempered metal would
give thieves the pick of several. 

We smuggled imported 
beer in white bottles, eight 
bucks a pack, and salads 
in sturdy plastic containers
from the Bread Shop.

Bleacher seats three dollars, 
nicknamed the “Animal Section.”
No one at the entry gate
ever checked for weapons.

We were good to go, unless
bottles protruded from the 
sides of our backpacks, 

or we spilled marijuana 
on the sidewalk by mistake
as we entered Wrigley Field.
A friend once said,

“If you were one of the lucky
people who got to change 
the scoreboard by hand, you’d
be so fucking cool by default.”

We drank beer, passed
joints, ate salads, and
when the game was over,

we took our trash home
and disposed of it properly.
We were good citizens.

No one patted our thighs,
thrust their hands up our shirts,
groped under the waistbands of 
our shorts, searching for explosives. 
No one checked our health records

for evidence of compliance.
It was just a goddamned Cubs game,
a few 23-year-old kids,

and a summer that would end
like all the others after.

supermarket tough guys

his cart
is practically up our asses

he’s angry, obviously
for having to grocery shop

or whatever white, male malaise
has caught his eye that day

maybe his sports team lost

he clearly wants to run over us
though we are no meanderers 

when he passes us, my wife says
run up my ass, why don’t you

he stops and turns around
with a practiced clint eastwood glare

the kind that used to scare his wife or his kids

he says, did you call me an ass?

my wife says, no, i was talking to my husband

she points to me
so, of course, i have say,

and even if she did call you an ass
there’s not a goddamned thing you can do about it

he doesn’t seem to like that
starts ranting and raving at us

until my wife says, why don’t you calm the fuck down

his eyes bug out

like no woman 
in the history of his white, male reign on earth
has ever told him to calm down before

he takes a step forward
so i do the same

almost nose to nose in the fresh meat aisle

as people around us pick pork chops 
and plan their evening meals

supermarket tough guys on a monday morning

middle aged men
doin’ the toxic masculinity rag

i tell him why don’t we take this outside

though i don’t think
i’ve ever told anyone
to take something outside

it seems funny to me to even say it

he glares at me a moment, contemplating

then he says,
as soon as i finish my grocery shopping, pal

storms away with his cart
full of red meat
and potato chips

while i stand there
chest puffed and fists clinched

heart beating a mile a minute

until my wife snaps me out of it
and says to me

now, where in the hell in this place

do they keep
the goddamned chicken?

Just a Bit More

When man seizes himself
Walking down the crowded pavement, amidst strangers
Helplessly laughing to deceive himself
That he is not all alone in this world,
That moment,
He believes he won’t bend
At the cold blade of a knife in his back,
He won’t grieve the blood
Painstakingly lost from his hot flesh
And at that same time,
When he hears sounds of music
That softly meet his ears, he tells to himself:
Listen? Someone’s singing to you tonight.

How quickly does man find a reason to kill himself,
O man, how much quicker,
Hundreds of excuses,
Thousands of lies,
To live but just a little bit more.

Regretful Wretch

Hold on Dark Lord – when I brimmed
with your eggs
waited
open legged and wild-eyed
I moved soooo fast then
now I’m slowed to a dumb
bleary-eyed
shuffle-to-a-stupor
old mess
why didn’t you make me
your vampiress 
while I oozed with potent venom and froth
you lifted me up
shared my blood with
your dark angels only to
drop me
as I fell I realized I would break
(thanks…for nothing)
into a thousand pieces
(and I did)
some old hag 
swept me into a plastic bag
tried to glue my parts
I came back
all fack-yacked 
an awful science project gone awry
I begged
to be put out of my misery
howled for you…… 
your icy cold fingers poke me
your horsemen scream a laughter
that shatters through my days
I swear I didn’t swear
if I did……………………. 
my fingers were crossed

chinked kink

I dragged her by the hair.
stop! she kicked. please!  
shut up! I gave her a slap
and cuffed her to the radiator’s pipe.
no, seriously! she said, my phone’s in the other room! 
so?
so my dad’s still in the hospital! what if someone rings? 
don’t care, I shrugged. in fact, I hope he dies. 
then I’ll adopt you and be your new daddy, won’t I?

I left and went to the shop on the corner. got a little thing of milk. 
some Doritos. pack of custard creams. Sanjeev asked me if
I saw the match. told him I don’t follow football. but you’re
from Liverpool, he wailed. home of the greatest team in the world!
it’s boring, I said. bunch of rich shampoo models prancing about.
now hockey, that’s a game. can I have a bag, please? 

I got back and peeked my head in.

well? I asked. 
to be honest, she shrugged, I could take or leave it.
I didn’t go too far?
no, it was exactly like we said, it’s just … 
she looked around the room … well, kind of boring. 
yeah, I agreed. bit forced, isn’t it. 
yeah, that’s it, she said. it’s too over the top, really. and 
it’s boring, just lying here, waiting for you.  
fair enough. want me to uncuff you? 
please, daddy.

then we ate all the custard creams 
watching two seasons of Friends. 

BOMBSHELL

When you walked through the dance floor,
everyone turned their heads

You wore a gold sequined dress
and rainbow sparkles through your hair

I didn’t even mind when you stole my spleen,
I wasn’t using it anyway 

Besides, a man has to give up something
of value to sip bourbon with a Princess

You were talking of existential surgery;
I was thinking about the bomb in the basement,
and the machine gun under our table

I thought it was a shame that
she would soon be blown to pieces;
It seemed such a dirty demise for royalty

Separating gold sequins from entrails
hanging off the ceiling, so as of not to
mix her remains with the bourgeois

Strange, how even in death,
the struggle between classes rages on  

A GALLON OF RED, A GALLON OF WHITE
SCUMBAG PRESS
£4.00

14 wine soaked poems by Pete Donohue and John D Robinson. Each chapbook comes with a signed broadside from each poet.

A5 size. Printed on recycled paper. Limited to 30 copies.

BUY A COPY HERE

The Confession

I was in North Beach just drinking and walking around.
It was a bright and lovely day with people outside doing things
and feeling generally good about the world.
A scruffy young fellow on the sidewalk
outside a grocery store asked me for a few bucks
but I only had bills bigger than I was willing to give.
I felt bad because there was something about his face
that I liked, an earnestness in his voice that struck me.
I went to the neighborhood record shop and bought 
some old Springsteen on vinyl, 9 bucks a pop, 
and when I came out I passed the kid again and gave him
the few dollars I had left.
He thanked me profusely with his earnest voice
and I told him he was quite welcome and continued on.
I was two blocks away when he ran up behind me
and touched my arm. Hey, he said, hey!
I stopped and turned and he said, 
I just wanna be straight with you bro, 
all I’m gonna do is buy a beer!
I gave him a thumbs up and told him 
that I planned to do the same.
He smiled and nodded, returned my thumbs up 
and disappeared into Big Al’s liquor store.
I went home and drank a sixer of some new 
hipster ale as I leaned back and listened 
to the Boss tell it like it was.