Yay, it's another lovely Barry Hodges "Memories" poem.*

How happily I recall the excitement of my visits to Lewisham's hospital
For my regular "haemorrhoid adjustment/re-alignment" sessions,
During which time I made the acquaintance of a nursing sister
With possibly the fiercest libido in south-east London.
And one night, whilst we were "on the job" in her comfy cubicle,
I glanced over her fat shoulder through the cracked observation window.

Ah yes, dear reader, it was the relatively cleanish Ward G
(the terminal one where the near-dead await merciful release,
wittily nicknamed "the happy dreamers' room" by the matron,
an evil predatory old **** with a 40-inch waist and wild halitosis);
I watched a spectacularly ugly nurse peering o'er the screen
Around poor old ******* Bertie "Big *****" Bloggs.

His wasted, crippled, whitened pyjamed form
Lay twitching on the none-too-clean patched sheets;
He opened his unseeing, ancient eyes and gave voice:
"Give us a gobble" the old ****** croaked pathetically,
"You know you want to, you fat smelly *****".
And then he croaked.  Unsucked and unloved,

O my beloved lector, compassionate creature that thou art,
Surely thy pleasure will be utterly intensified to learn that
The NHS bedsheets were indelibly and spectacularly stained
As his bowels opened spontaneously with Death's kindly appearance.
"Gor ******* blimey, what a ******* horrid pong," came a groan:
('twas Sammy "No Legs" Smith in mid-**** on a nearby trolley).

These events in the ward led to an inevitable result for me:
You have divined it correctly, O treasured fan of mine,
Yea verily, the happenings I espied made me blow my ***
Most prematurely and my love-partner, the sylphlike Sister Sally,
Was so sodding annoyed she crushed my tender haemorrhoids
Quite brutally in her surgical spirit-hardened left hand.

The randomness of rain
as it splashes on worn shoes and frayed  collars.
Wet in Lewisham the streets awash
with promises of  heartache.
A wind without a name,
commences a distant roar of thunder.
The Police siren follows a path
beating down to the Silent Whisperer
a man with no grace
to a steet arcade
outlasting redevelopment
His fists clenched
as to show his anger to the world beyond.

To state what seems true
it's about the ratings
don't you
agree.
We shall gather up plaudits to Lord around Shoreditch and Hackney to Bow and watch as the ratings go up.
We shall sup on our tea somewhere down in Lea Green,which is South of the Thames, or as the crow flies about two beats from Lewisham,these are names that I know,places I've seen when I've been down on my uppers and up on the downers,where stories to tell are retold by the fires that burn bright in hell,but I'm well,
It's the ratings we dream,the ratings that seem to be honey,making money more money and funny how sweet it becomes,number like runs on a wheel,spinning the new deal,rating things real when they're not,like spot the ball when there's no ball to be found.
The sound of the ratings that comes through the grating grates on my ears,a whine,electronic,white noise and quietly ******,turning me on,tuning me up,making me look good and I'm just a dwarf plant that grows in the wild wood.
Even better than this as the ratings reach up to **** on the sky,there is payment that's due from the ratings that you long to give.
Why,
I don't know how to live is a mystery to me,a case of rate it and see how it goes
and ratings are all about shows that we take,things that we break,hearts that we make full of joy.
To state what seems true
I am sated on ratings and fated to be
a number in someone's
dating directory.
Did I say dating?
I meant rating
almost the same
but not quite.

that is happiness
unlike concern
there's: there being
but then i can't rap
Heidegger
just images
bleeding
i need Francis Bacon
in the clouds
i see faces in the clouds
we
we            WE are having parliament
of shadows
WE have audience
with each other:
who the ****** spelled
the Quran to the mother!
i said the Quran was written
by a woman
i don't like modern feminism:
i'm flying in into San Francisco
to clean the city up
with some fire
dust... please...
rap rap rap rap
rap rap rap ****** rap ******
stop singing
rap rap rap ******
*****'ah...
Beckett not-I...
this ****** ***** the old man
is thinking in B-movie LEwisham ******
come on let's get angry
let's get angry
with Hod is the jockstrap censor smooth
over Allah for the ridicule of Dog
grandpa KEnya
before Arabia arrived...
oh oooh sweet
guess i get the proper ****
dough
plasticine...
  ooh baby i bus you drive
a train like a stroking my lion's mane
i want to love i love i want
to love i just love
i hate and torture in the shadows...
i got the ego walking on the moon
and the id as earth
and the son as god
Puerto Ricans island
Economics
mythology Reyla:
your mother is Aztec
Mayan
Inca...
            tell me of the other feathers
and gold:
now i see hope now i rip out ****
******* ****** two by tow by two...
black girl spells
out N I GG E R
S snigger: i sniggered: like daredevil
daffodil....
                         that wide ***
those **** the shower scene
and she shaves her *****
so i can eat her out without
a romanticist mouse and tash: rash: Ottoman
barber:
like a blade to the neck
and i trust them
the Valhalla of the Janissaries
and the Herald of the Hussars: Winged...
and as much of neck
as my hand will allow
and lips and tongue to the ear:
both your ears
a father erotica
with a brother i **** my sister
because the anti-****** is
****** first...

lived in lewisham for a while
it was alright  
but then she grew bored and I grew
bored with her growing bored
and staying out all night
and south east london ain’t the end of the
world