Posts Tagged ‘sticks’

jacknicholson

She said,‘When he walked past me I felt a shiver down my spine. But I wasn’t sure if it was a good shiver or a bad shiver.’
She said,‘I asked him if he was a bikie. He looked like a bikie’
She said, ‘He said no’
She said, ‘Then I saw him coming out from the IGA, with beers’
She said, ‘And I said hey baby come over here’
She said, ‘And we had some drinks
She said ‘I know he’s a good man even though I’ve only known him for three hours’
She said ‘Have you got ‘dreams’ by the cranberries
She drank all the wine, and spoke too loudly
But she was like a firecracker, so full of life
I felt good for my mate, he’d met her in the psychiatric ward- the rsvp for the sanity-impaired
I wished them both well after we had gotten really stoned on two sticks
They left me a few cones
I thought to myself- I’ve got to get back to the Gigglebin, and they left

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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.