Editor Christopher Writes – A Poem A Day For A Year: 25/01/15

Today is the day I should present my self-evaluation for the week. That will come on Tuesday. I am more than a little bit drunk right now and watching Fringe. (For those of you who are regular readers that is a little clue to the amazing news I had for Bunbury a few days ago.) I would do it tonight but, as I say, I am a little drunk and am starting a new job tomorrow. Tomorrow night would be a great time to do it but we are attending and event in Manchester. Verbose, hosted by Sarah-Clare Conlon, for which we are doing a feature.

I am in a unbelievably good mod tonight. I did the first poetry gig I have done in three months which went down really well. Despite the fact I did not have a mic and had to shout over music. I was first on and basically the canary for the other poets. Keri did a set tonight which was really good! At the end of my set, I read a poem which my mother wrote which I am really jealous of. It is phenomenal. I really genuinely wish I had written it and when I read it, It got a better response than anything I read of my own.

Tonight though was a really good night. We started the work on getting a feature with all performers on the go for tonight’s event and got asked if we wanted to do an event of our own in that venue too! So excited!  Spoke to so many fantastic people! This is already longer than my level of sobriety will allow so all I will say from here is…

Here is a poem. Prompt for tonight is just from my own brain.

I am nine years old.

I go to primary school

but I am grown up.

Not in the junior classes any more.

All grown up. I have my own

coat peg and text book for book my

sums in. My jumper is frayed at the sleeves

and dark because I wipe my nose on it.

Sometimes I need to go for a wee.

Sometimes my friend comes with me.

We have a competition to see who can wee highest.

I watch my friend as his wee climbs up all the tiles,

almost to the window at the top of the toilet wall.

I take my turn. My wee splashes way above my head,

making marks on the wall that I can’t reach with my hand.

I win.  I win the wall weeing thing.

Now I am twenty-eight. By some strange coincidence,

I am in the same toilet for small boys.

Well, not strange,

it is parents’ evening. We sent our little wee one

to the same school because I had

a fabulous time here. I am looking up at the window

over the urinal. Everything is still the same. I

decide to see if I can still reach those dizzying heights of

almost-the-window.

I start to piss. A fart immediately

escapes my anus. I force my pelvis up

and send that force through my penis. At least

that is how it feels. In reality,

the same trickle that I have seen for the past two years

presents itself to me. I thrust my hips a little to try and get

some energy into my whizz.

I end up peeing on my own shoes.

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