King Kong

I always see him at the beginning

Not hanging

From the Empire State Building

Faye in his hand

Half struggling

Half waiting for it

I think of him first, in the jungle

Before they force him onto the crowd

Before the capture

Just doing his thing

Terrorising the locals

Even killing one or two

Out of necessity

Beauty did not kill the beast, motherfucker

In the end, he just didn’t fit into their

View of what the world is

And well - goddamn…

New England

For some reason I have, in my mind

Lived there for so many years now

Amongst all the postcard clichés

And mirror image fields

Birds and rivers

Small churches within towns

Others would only ever

Drive through

But to write it down

To record this second life

That would expose the falsehood

Remove the curtain to show me

Sitting at this screen

Looking out onto the growing garden of my

Real home

The blue sky so bright

Flat and unwelcoming

Keeping my heart indoors

The same New England sun

Shining on the white painted houses

Across the street here

Now

Not too different

Maybe the details only

The birds

Churches

The sorrow of the people

And no one makes postcards of

Where I actually

Live.

Slam Neals Yard