Friday, 14 June 2013

The Uncanny Knack of Talking Around Corners

You possess a knack of saying things
That have no meaning or purpose
But rather are a meandering river of words
Going nowhere, a veritable vortex of syllables
Shaped into pretty stories, pretty lies
Around and around, they dance

You're three steps ahead before you pause to take stock
And ask,
"Have I told you this before?"
Still you plunge on unheeding; even if I answer in the affirmative
"I've heard this tale before."
Off you go again, running down a new tangent
I stifle my yawns

This uncanny knack of talking around corners
Some benign state of befuddlement
Or a deliberate net of... I don't know what.
Lacking perception or even the will to care
I just nod and accept, and the challenge goes by
But you pick us because we're non-confrontational anyway...

I wish all people were as void of substance as you
It would make my dead end job satisfactory
To stare into empty space and mutter vagaries about the rugby on the weekend
And how much piss I drank
Multiplied by exponential levels of hyperbole each time the story is told
And how the barmaid with too much makeup and hair bleached so bright it glows
Wanted me to drive her home after her shift, said with a salacious grin
As I turn another corner, still talking
When the reality is I simply stayed at home.

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