Poetry by Jeff Green


What the F**K

by cricketjeff on October 6, 2008.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

“What the FUCK was that for?”

Did it matter?
there would be a reason;
the housekeeping, still running
on next months glue and dogfood,

her bingo money turned to beer,
too late, too early, too on time

It didn’t matter,
a few minutes before
THAT had been for our supper,
now it was across the floor and wall.
She was a terrible shot
and had terrible taste in men,


Some lasted weeks, one nearly three years,
they were all the same,
they worked some days that they didn’t sign on,
they drank and smoked,
so did she.

They laughed and they fought,
they fought and they laughed.

A dinner thrown, cracked plates finally smashed,
a punch, a black eye, his, hers, both,
then silence
while we waited, out of site, out of mind
in the coal shed, round our mates



She would be singing and he would grin sheepishly
pulling his shirt on and hand us ten bob
for a trip to the chippy.

Author notes

This is NOT autobiographical

NOT NOT NOT autobiographical!!!