Parting shot

this, is for the false memories
suspended in photographs
hung, drawn and quartered postcards
endless phone logs
and care packages
which found their way into your arms
when I was distant and out of reach

this, is an acerbic soap box preach
my parting shot
a ghost
to haunt
the conscience you lacked
when you had someone else rolled on their back
because mine was turned


I wish I knew
what the fuck you are looking for
‘cos I just this minute saw
that creative
you profess to seek
right there…
semi naked
in your bathroom mirror

She said she served herself up to you
on a silver platter
only for you to say you fancied
something less sweet
more tart
and preferably
with no meat