New verse by Kaipara poet Sam Hunt.

 

Pissed by 11

 

Neither pop-inner

or house-guest,

 

I prefer an early-opener,

patrons pissed by 11:

 

the rest of the day

the blur it always is. . .

 

Some people say

“Come and stay”

 

or others, “I thought I’d

just pop in” . . .

 

I’m down at the Shamrock,

and it’s blurring.

 

This is what loneliness is,

this is how perfect it is:

 

no one at the door;

or opening their’s, insisting.

 

 

The man talking

 

The man talking at me

asked how I was?

I told him, stressed and depressed.

 

He never heard.

I think he thought I’d said

I was doing just fine.

 

Which in some sick way

made me feel a lot better.

I thanked him for not listening.

 

Sam Hunt, 2017