The beginnings of a Story (a poem)

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Crazy

Crazy is as Crazy does

His nickname –
Crazy

‘Why Crazy? she asked.
absorbed, as they all were
even the boys,
you could call them friends,
often used,
sometimes abused,
afraid and angry,
but captivated – dogs on a lead,
ensnared with some sort of addictive love
for this man,
confidence in a swagger and brag,
switch blade in the back pocket of pale jeans,
covered by a loose blue work shirt,
heard about but not seen.

He knocked some bastard’s teeth out in the pub,
the cops are looking for him,
laughed Mick,
with unease and awe wavering in his breath.

‘I bit a bloke’s ear off once
and the blood pissed out like a cat with a slit throat
all over my shirt!’
Crazy described this assault on his person,
he often dressed well for a night out,
pissed off in the recall,
the man without half an ear –
a playing pawn
in a game of snakes and ladders:
how fast can you get
to the top of the ladder
of crimes to impress by –
not a bad story.

He kissed and sighed in her ear
‘I killed a man in Longreach once’
before passing out on the bed.

In the morning he rolled over and groaned
‘keep that to yourself’ he winked –
a scowl-smile warning hovered.

She should have paid attention
to the nickname.

Crazy is as Crazy does

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