Air America

The cockpit of the Cessna

was filled with the smell

of badly digested wind

and perspiration as we droned

high above the jungle,

and he talked about whores

as I traced a line on a map

with my finger and marvelled

at his confidence and

nonchalance with the controls,

and asked how many

flying hours he’d amassed:

‘About twenty’ he replied;

I was impressed ‘twenty thousand?’

‘No – twenty…’

I could just make out

the small airstrip

by the side of the mountain

in the fading dusk

and opened an air vent.

John H Davies

2nd April 2011 

Rough Justice

It seemed fair to assume

there’d be thieves in a prison,

but after our last belonging

had finally gone the way

of the others, and we still

had no idea who the culprit was,

we planted an imaginary object

under the bunk of the

most likely candidate

and beat the shit out of him.

There wasn’t any more trouble

for a while.

John H Davies

1st April 2011 

Solemnly and with reverence

Thirty recruits stood

in the empty barrack

sweating into their suits

while the instructing sergeant

delivered a brief overview

of what they could expect

during the next eight weeks

of basic training and that

this was the last chance

to change their minds

and head for the station:

‘Speak now or forever

hold your peace,’

and as a nervous hand

went up somewhere

near the back,

the sergeant continued:

‘Too fucking late son…’

John H Davies

31st March 2011 

I Knew Bobby

I spoke to your widow on her mobile

the other day in Homosassa. We’d never met,

but your friend Sonny gave me her number.

She told me you’d been dead for 11 years

and she still thought about you some days.

You come back to me in an old

black and white photo, your profile sipping

tequila, glass in the hand disfigured by a Chinese

bayonet that exited at the elbow before

the rifle discharged and made a mess.

You woke up on a hospital ship and spent

the next few years chasing wetbacks across

the Mexican border until you got bored

and went in search of the same thing

that we all did. I see you breaking the edge

of a jungle clearing, reciting the rules of cricket

in your southern drawl, and despite the brash exterior

and your admiration of my English reserve,

you taught me quiet survival during the long

dark hours of prison nights.

That was what killed you, Linda said,

you took the next 13 years to die. She said

you’d been childhood sweethearts and finally

married her before taking off again. ‘You know Bobby’

she said, and there was a pause at the other end of the line.

John H Davies

30th March 2011

Faces on walls

Faces on walls

Smile from another dimension.

I wonder whether they had

Any intention

Good or bad

By chance or invention

To make me glad

Of their eyeballs?

John H Davies

29th March 2011 

Song of the songs - Part I

After the storm

Beyond the blue horizon

Come hither with your zither

Dancing in the moonlight

(Easier said than done)

For you alone

Give me the moonlight

Here in the quiet hills

In the middle of no-where

Joggin’ along the highway

Killing me softly with his song

Like a breath of sunshine

My silent love,

Night and day

Once in a while

Play a simple melody

Queen of hearts

Reach out for me

Save your kisses for me

Till all our dreams come true

Until

Voices from the minaret

Wake the town and tell the people

Xavier

You keep coming back like a song

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah!

John H Davies

28th March 2011 

This Side Up

If you wait long enough

you can have your whole life

condensed into a few cardboard boxes.

You’ll have to pack them yourself.

If you work all your life

and pay your taxes and allow

progress to pass you by,

and forget to tick the right part

of the insurance form,

you can sit and watch them

condemn your house;

the house you grew up in,

the house you married

and raised kids in,

despite the perfectly good

shoring timbers (which didn’t 

look quite right on the close)

and they’ll relocate you

to a brand new serviced flat

nearby, but it’ll never be the same,

you’ll think, as you sit

in the empty front room

on the last box, with the van full

and ready to go, and ask for

one last minute alone to wonder

with slowly moistening eyes,

how your life became distilled

into this last box marked Fragile

This Side Up. Handle With Care.

John H Davies

27th March 2011