nobody

[Blkrubbersoul]

Ah. That’s quite a problem. A puzzler,
a brain-twister, mind-bender. You;

a pub quiz; the smartest team will be
over-qualified. Trophy goes to
those who knows the buzzwords.
Those who use senseless rhetorics.
Those who drop vowels in conversation.

“I owe you” is printed on t-shirts
and on Father’s day mugs. Catchphrase.
You’ll always owe me because I’m the bank;
crossing me gets no reward, and you know it
and you flaunt it because I’m soft.

I listen to you now only for the adverts.
Where to eat, where to shop, when to fuck.
The faintest hint of a phoney linguistic trick
and I’m sold to the idea. I can take hints.

You’re number one and therefore you have
pulling power. I’ll pave the way for your success.
I’ll lay down the red carpet and provide the crab-cakes,
the volovaunts, the champagne. I can raise you from the
rubble to the ritz, or throw you back the other way.
Flash-man takes the pic and your smile becomes a hit
and a million lifeless faces begin to want a bit.
You love it when some clever dick has found your number
and wants to have a chit. Just admit, you love it when
I’m the one who begs to quit.

Ah. The problem. I'm the one who lays down the carpet.
I am the carpet, fraying. Your heels wear down on the
cold pavement. I see it in every tabloid paper and I laugh.
You’re getting shorter by the day, if that matters to you.

Fatter, too.