Posts Tagged ‘deal’

Port Wine

Posted: June 13, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

iga

Sitting in the IGA shopping center car-park drinking ten-dollar port wine
Wondering how many hours I’ve spent waiting for drugs
How many minutes of fervid expectation, my senses hollowed out with longing
It always has to be this way
Will it be there or will they rip us off
Where the fuck are they
Fuck me it’s been hours
I wonder what they’re doing
Probably done the deal and chatting about meaningless crap
Forever and ever amen eloi eloi sabachtani hallelujah om
I pray to fallen gods who govern drug deals to bring the drugs to us
Then it’s here
A whole ounce of ganja
The guy who’s buying weighs it up and says it’s okay
We roll a massive doobie for the walk back
I get a chunky bud as my share
And we head for home

Good Friday Ganja

Posted: April 10, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

orange_bud
It’s Thursday night
Got to get some weed before Good Friday
But it’s past six thirty and Bill won’t be on
So I call Tiressa and ask her if she’s got any
It’ll be an hour she replies by text message
So I stuff around by the shops aimlessly
And generally try to waste time
Buy a paper, read it
Have at least five cigarettes
Walk up and down the road
Think to myself:
‘How many hours have I spent waiting for drugs-
A fucking shit-load I bet’
Time seems to wander in maple syrup
The sun slows down and burns a hole in the ground
Then I try to ring her again as the hour is up
I can’t get through to her so I walk down to her place
When I get there she says it will be another hour
Now my bullshit detector is going off
I’ve been in enough drug deals to know that her suppliers are screwing her around
I should try somewhere else
So I ask her if she knows anywhere
She says ‘why don’t you try the Maoris down the street next to the shops’
So I ask her how to find them
She says walk down the road for about three hundred metres and look for a red commodore wagon
So I head off and soon get back to the road next to the shops
Walk about three hundred metres and I see the red commodore wagon
Knock on the door, and I tell them Tiressa sent me and I’m looking for some sticks
The cuddly Maori woman at the door says ‘No worries, I know what it’s like to be without a smoke-
I’ll just go and ask my husband. How many do you want?’
I say, ‘I’d like four,’ and give her a hundred bucks.
She takes the money and closes the door.
I’m thinking ‘Fuck! I hope they don’t rip me off.’
But she’s back soon, with foils
Haven’t seen foils for fifteen years.
These days dope usually comes in little plastic bags
But they look an OK size-wise
I thank her and head back up the road
I see a factory surrounded by bushes as I’m walking
So I stop off behind the bushes and have a couple of cones with my pipe
‘Fuck me,’ I think to myself, ‘this is the best shit I’ve had for years!’
My brain feels like it’s been encased in a warm pulsating psychedelic blanket
A succulent green haze descends on my consciousness and I feel incredibly free of anxiety and relaxed.
Heavenly visions of translucent summer days dance through my skull
Those Maoris know their weed
So by this stage it’s about 9:30,
I get on the train and head home.

bud
Hopping on the train to Queens Park
Sixty bucks in my hand with a heart full of hope, John Lennon spectacles and a Hawaiian shirt
Time to make a deal on covert corners
I get there
The door’s wide open but a guy jumps out of a parked car and asks
‘Are you chasing?’
‘Yeah
Follow him through the doorway
He pulls out a metallic thermos and opens it up
It’s crammed full of sticks
‘How many you want’
‘Two’
I hand over the mullah and secrete the little pillows of happiness in my pocket
Leaving the house, I head for the station
Stop in a park where the old library used to be facing the station and pack a cone
Intake of sweet smoke, so much nicer than tobacco
A haze of lime-green satisfaction descends
The grass is green as a rainforest
The sky is azure bright and unimpeded by clouds
Then I roll a smoke and head for the station
Ten minutes to wait for the train to Oats Street