Poem: Clang

A poem about the soullessness of a friend, and the heartbreak of knowing that too late…

I never saw evidence of his soul. I never heard
anything resembling soulfulness coming from him.
He would visit my mother in the shop where she worked,
later he’d tell others he fantasised over running away
with her; she’d like his muscles. And they’d fix my
father from any interference.

He choked my best friend, dunking him repeatedly in
Cuba Mall’s fountain. He talked all the time about who
he could have, and when he would not bother, boasted
about the time a girl from school who had just thrown up
on New Year’s Eve, tried to kiss him - but he just pushed
her head down. She could kiss the cock instead eh.

There was the time he stole money from the place where
he worked, and all of those drinks he gave himself from
behind the bar. He was bulletproof even without a vest.
The soul is our strength, through its very vulnerability.
He had no vulnerability - he was bulletproof, psychologically
bereft; spiritually bankrupt - writing emotional blank checks…

By the end there was nothing left, he was bulletproof. Or
so he would say. But his words held not truth.
His words were water through the fingers - his grasp
forever slipping. The sadness profound. The madness
forever terrifying. And his soul never present, never even
traceable…never to be found.