Mark Heathcote

(22/03/66 / Manchester)

A Bullet or A Rocking Chair


I have a bullet or a rocking chair
A young skeleton or a fairy crown
Which one do I stick around for?
One is imaginary:
The other is a dumbing down…
What is reality and where can it be found.

A star ship travels far from where it started from
Or was it a saucer sent on its way in vengeance-
For my loose cruel tongue!
Whichever I chose neither one will spin on for long.

I also have a cat he wants to be an owl
He sits all night in a sycamore tree
Hoping to Helicopter down on the dormouse
Who he delegates and believes might just be me.

I have a bullet or a rocking chair you see
Sometimes I dream of…
Pulling that trigger or just sitting there in the dark
I catnap dreaming, I am an old owl…
Flying to those afar away places, places for me.
In the moonlight there’s a dish of warm milk
But it’s bloody on the floor and cold…

Oh life is an ancient cartouche
Of all that’s gone, long before…
Whichever I chose neither one will spin on for long.
So I’ll just guess I’ll join the fairies on the rocking chair…
Or else you can execute me for being a bore
That’s if you dare against the wall.

You can drag my sarcophagus till you too
Die of heart ache and bronchitis
Cause I still have my decision to be made
Do I choose a bullet or a rocking chair?
And who the hell are you to say you care
If you love me honey you must be just a fool
Or else all fur coat and no knickers.

But I guess that's what makes this old owl hoot
Till it’s so old it goes deaf and mute
And just mouths I love you and the fairies too.

Submitted: Friday, November 15, 2013
Edited: Sunday, March 23, 2014

Topic(s): poem


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