One Thousand Plastic Trinkets
Nick Armbrister
The subtle power and intense imagination in these poems will certainly appeal to all readers. No doubt, the wealth of imagination and deeply inspired poetic fancy in these poems are quite remarkable.
Dancing with Joan Jett
Dancing close with Joan Jett is so wild, it’s 1988 and we go head to head. I’m the teen kid by the juke box and she is my wet dream in black leather, one foot in front of me. Pure bloody ecstasy. Garage music blares out of the speakers and we spin around, my arm catching her waist. Closer we draw; a kiss. First of many.
Joan and Nick. Who would have thought it? Rock n roll music heroine meets a Lancashire lad in an intimate spit and sawdust gig venue in a nameless town. It happened, was happening now. 25 July 1989. A day before I was eighteen.
By chance I got her gig ticket, last minute rush. Left my crap job and mental northern town and took the train to see Her, Joan Jett. My teen rock goddess singing live. How many guys wanted a piece of her? And a few gals too. Black leather, boots and an awfully short skirt...
Age 16…
U for Underwear. I dreamt of you in your underwear. You looked very alluring and I wanted you. You tickled my fancy and the rest is history. Full of clichés just like you. So sexy in your underwear. I imagine how you'll look out of it. I'll peel it off you so you're naked. Then I'll kiss you all over especially between your legs. Oh what joy when you cum over my face! Then we'll make love and cum together. My seed in you. Us doing unbelievable things. But then I woke up alone with a huge hard on! And where were you my underwear girl? It was just a reverie.
Two Millimetres (dedicated to the world's chefs and associated staff)
It takes a special person to work in a restaurant's kitchen.
A narcissist.
Not just being able to cook or having a passion for food.
Some learn it, the best are born with it.
Head Chef, is it lonely at the top?
Join your team and drink wine.
Even the dishwasher is important.
You make culinary cuisine a science.
Forks spaced two millimetres apart, measured by ruler.
Your white restaurant is so minimalist.
Like a rocket design laboratory.
What do you go through to get that top award?
Used, abused, make the fucking food!
If it's not perfect you must throw it away.
Fish scallops exactly two millimetres thick.
Yet so many people starve on London's streets
.
.
The art you create s gone in thirty years
unless caught in a picture book.
Why must you be such a bad arse,
always swearing and being bossy?
Who bosses you about?
Your rival hates you but needs you.
As you do him.
He says you are the best.
The Head Chef is like God.
Is that a role you want?
Chef, you exist in a world where you have to trust.
They're your family.
You can't do it alone.
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