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markbousfield

Wigan originally but lived in London for a long time now so it feels like home.

Member Since 2006

Followers 48 Following 64

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Monday Apr 07, 2008

Apr 7, 2008
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JACK PARADISE
I wedged the fire escape open with the rusty old extinguisher,
the hand rolled cigarette lolled on my bottom lip,
dry as always.

There he sat,
(as he did every Tuesday night)
staring into his fire.

A vision in a flannel shirt and torn courdoroy,
Onyx eyes staring into the flame glimmering
salt decayed stars and an old blues refrain,
a Mississippi delta rhythm,
mulled wine slugged from an etched silver hipflask,
a bird of Paradise sitting on his knee.

A black cut of hair curled to his brow
as I asked from where the wood for the fire came.

He laughed, tilting his head back he joyously explained,

'Reclaimed! Reclaimed! Reclaimed!'

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