the quick fix

early morning alarm-clock radio

it was Wednesday

I knew immediately upon waking

for unlike any other day that day

I actually had a reason to get up: it was pay day


I usually take an hour or so to clear my head

in the morning, but that day I only needed 17 minutes

acutely aware in my bones I'd gone

longer than 24 hours without a fix


nauseous bus fumes mingled with brown-tongue

coffee residues accosted me on the way to the bank

I imagined the fillings I'd have on my kebab for breakfast

that helped the nausea but crabs

in my stomach clawed it inside out


- sometimes having an over-active imagination

can have negative physical side-effects –


I wiped my mouth on a napkin six minutes

after transacting every last dollar from my bank account

I literally fucken inhaled that kebab

giving my fragile digestive system a real workout

but it took care of my all-important daily

dietary intake & it was nearing beer o'clock


thirty minutes after transacting every last dollar

from my bank account I stared into the bottom

of my first schooner of XXXX for the day

& went to pay the bills

for an arse-hangin'-out-the-back-of-his-trousers

dole-bludgin'-loser like me there were five of 'em

RENT

          PHONE

                        POWER

                                       FOOD

                                                   DRUGS

& not necessarily in that order


fifty-two minutes after my dole-day ritual

of fortnightly transacting every last dollar

from my bank account

I crumpled my rent receipt, abandoning it

to the gutters of the concrete jungle

my small fortune effectively reduced by half


economists say that you shouldn't

        "pay more than a quarter

        of your income on rent"

I decided there & then that my

Final Notice electricity & overdue phone bills

could join the rent receipt in the fucken gutter

it was time for a fix


one hour & 25 minutes after my dole-day

ritual of fortnightly transacting every last dollar

from my bank account

I was drunk & slothing in a beer garden

half listening to irrelevant conversations

composing bad poetry in my head: just waiting


it's like that sometimes

drugs just have to happen to you

sure you might ring someone

& they'd greet you like a long-lost friend

but it's all on false pretences

you're only there for the drugs

'cos they've got the drugs

the conversation is clouded by druglust

because that's what it is sex

& the deal is fore-play


so like clockwork two hours after paydirt

I struck up a conversation with a fellow

welfare recipient we drank & drank hard

our mouths running free

I duly accepted his offer of a spliff

in reverence to the ritual:


the quick fix