Blowing the game.

Your football team.
Your good wholesome boys drawn in by Lilith’s drunken grasp.

Your mighty men who went willingly into the arms of temptation,

Only to find she had claws and teeth.

Poor, gentle boys who went out looking for a good time

And wound up vilified.

The boys you saw as heroes,

Now devastated villains, 

As your decades old dream crumbled softly into ashes.

And I hear you say that She is responsible.

For being drunk,

For being out,

For being there and then and how

She called them up,

Agreed to party,

And passed out amid the wreckage.

She’s responsible for things they did,

When she was comatose,

Because you’re scared to say

Your hero’s just a rapist after all.



New house spelunking

Last month we moved in. The wallpaper came down, paint went on and the place began to feel like ours. Today I investigated the loft. This is about 1/3 of what’s up there, mostly old toys and nonsense but a whole bag of children’s photos that left me feeling unsettled. Who leaves their children in the loft? What stories happened in this house before ours began?