Kick back with a scotch bonnet

Endless hassle,
a gavel pounds against my brain.
Computers are whining, printers are drumming
the boss must have a hole in his head.
Back stabbing remarks heard behind doors,
just once let me get even.
He wants my ass, I know how to play,
so maybe today I should.
Let him think he’s got lucky, a grin that seduces
until he is eating out of my hand.
Bondage the game, with him in chains
wearing a Scotch bonnet on his wee head
as I kick back and relax
watching him sweat.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Death Before Dying

As years swept past, old age arrived,
the grey replaced his jet-black hair.
His eyes of blue need lens to see
An aid in ear is placed with care.
The fatigue of time has no relief
the once vibrant mind is dull.
A stick of ebony helps him walk
the physical grief has taken its toll.
Why can’t he remember me?
He sees me and sees my mother.
his wife who passed so long ago,
each visit is slowly killing me
I want my dad, not his shadow.
I grieve for man he once was
as he knows nothing of me.
In his memory, he is still young,
a soldier fresh from war,
my mother by his side in white,
he’s lost to memory now
as he slips further she holds him closer
his bride wants him with her to stay.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.