Cheap Red Knickers.

Rusty called from Lizard Bend. Idaho.

I said hello Rusty how is your Christmas?
He said Tristan it's good, Babs has taken the triplets to Montana and left me home alone. Home alone I can de-frost the fridge, clean the kitchen. do all the washing in the house, clear out the kids rooms, polish the floors and stuff like that.

I said Rusty that sounds like a great present for Babs.

He said No. All she ever wants is a pair of red knickers and an ill fitting bra from Anne Summers.

After all Christmas is just about cheap red knickers.

I said NO Rusty. Christmas is about demonstration of wealth. Buy her expensive red knickers.

Rusty said there ain't no expensive red knickers in Lizard Bend Idaho.

I said rusty buy a cheap pair and then make out you are giving them to someone else, suddenly they will increase in value.

Rusty said thanks.

I said you're welcome Rusty. Happy Christmas.

Trainspotting at night.

Beside my bed I keep a little book
in which I jot down the details of
those trains of thought which
travel nightly the subconscious network.
Occasionally it will be the midnight express
screaming through nightmare tunnels
(its headlight mimicking hope)
towards oblivion.
But more often it is a
benign milk train
with it's churned up cargo  of memories
stopping regularly
at the village halts that
line my past.

My nights spent
supine upon an embankment of pillow
counting wheels
marveling at their locomotion
but no longer curious
about their destination.