Some Visit – Guy Peppin

So, raise you glass, and give
three cheers for the old neighbourhood,
that I left somewhere between
the dirt and the shock of the new
and three taps, for the drip
and snake of the hose and the pinging
rain on the somewhat rusted roof
and other voices in other rooms when
somebody else is crying and
cooking smells from somewhere else
three stumbles for the angel
shape of the pressed flowers, the unkept
hedgerows between the pub
stumblings, all salad days and lovers
three sighs, for that half-knowing
someday backlit glance framed
by the muffled savagery of the drum-kit
somewhere and to each our own
suffering tapped-out rhythm
three crumpled tickets for the five-am
bus and sour summer clothes
and pavement cracking ice-creams
three something shadows for
your fenced silhouette and the traitorous
scrape of the gate after midnight
three surfs for sleeping on couches
and the the empty microwave leftovers and
the test pattern of the dawn raucous
three dusty breaths for the carpet burn lies
and the underwater love and the
melancholy trees and unconscious friends
three salt tears, and some big deal
for the steep rolling place somewhere you
touched me once or twice
and three shakes or one finger for the somehow
kids in the un-mown park too old to play,
too young to drink, too drunk to f***
three four letter words because
I punched you because I loved you and woke-up
scraped in unexpected places
and three jeers for the people we f***ed
or f***ed-up or three punctures
for all the sticky fond-lings
behind the bike-shed
and the midnights on your mouth
and three words because language
became a rock I could rub myself against
and shed a hamper of feelings
and three shoe pebbles for skimming
around our lagoon called lakes and boots
made for walking off the cicadas
on our brains and the bridge where they
found that body in a cage
and yes, three storeys for those neat
sameing apartments tidying
and jostling the yielding sheds
three echoes for the people
we used to be for all the sand and
the seaweed and flowers, again,
three cheers for all these frayed
sun-bleached memories in the
four dry-leaved pages of my heart.