A Tissue

By Christos Floratos

A ring-a-fear around the world,

A tissue… a tissue.

No – no more than a pocket full of tissues.

This roll of paper has mummified the world.

Graves aren’t too much of an issue after we’ve curled.

Those black screens show blue, white and black masks.

The Asians, the Asian.

The Italians, the Italian.

From the sky they fall like China Dolls.

From the sky they fall like Golden Crucifixes.

And each piece of broken ceramic and metal can’t resist but to

              enter and violate your nose, throat and your lungs.

We all fall down.

Reach for the tissue – if you have wrestled for one.

Have you fought yet for the toilet king crown?

Only those most fashionably early would have won.

And as they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

Those poor people, once again, are the losers.

A broken hip? A carer who drives you once a week?

Almighty, He would say,

“Give it a go, for you have a go! You are not weak.”

And after the Ashes, and after the ashes.

When tied around our necks are sashes

Where violence would leave unhealable gashes

 Who’d be responsible caring for the sick masses?

Why, surely it would not be I?

For all I would need is a tissue, my guy.

My coughs are incognito as a sigh.

So, who is responsible for the elderly and compromised?

None of us, no doubt.

Consider who are your posies.

What flower shall you use to ward off

              The bland smell of phlegm from your nose.

A water droplet can pass through the tissue.

And one dirty tissue; that is all it takes now,

              To swim through the vastness of people, current, like a riptide.

For your young legs work and you coerce yourself a bow.

              Those unlike you will have a doctor with a gavel by their side.

What The Heck am I Rambling About? #3 – Night-Time Colours

Night-Time Colours is about some of the feelings experienced in a night-club. It is a celebration of the beauty such a night holds but also a critique on the almost-carnivorous repetition these nights create. It is the third poem of the ‘Autumn, That Bastard‘ Poetry Collection and maybe the most digestible of them all!

‘What The Heck Am I Rambling About?’ is me talking about the meanings I intended in my creative and poetic works!

Check out the poem here before reading ahead where you can also read my Author’s Comments section: Night-Time Colours

I used to very much enjoy going to clubs occasionally and spending the night out with friends. Dancing away to music. But now, sometimes, not all the time, I am hit with an anxiety in a club space. There’s a feeling of limited control and what I think is a “loudness to compete with the loudness”. In such a space, ‘intimacy has no atrium’ and as such, love and hook-up culture can be freely explored. To an extent, celebrated.

The colours and lights I refer to are what people are drawn to. Because amidst the bobbing of the head, amidst the undulating movement of bodies, people want to be in the centre of the night-club. I use the oxymoron of ‘silent-loud decree’ that there is an expectation and eagerness to be presentable. Yet this dress-codes runs in direct opposition of this purpose. How the hell do you dance comfortably in those clothes? Yet, we rarely challenge it and it is ultimately the ‘cruel-bouncer’ who blocks them and they don’t get to dance, hence the ‘stale legs’ imagery.

As mentioned to in the author’s comment section of Nigh-Time Colours, this is both a celebration of this youthful culture but also a critique of it. Although the poem ends on a somewhat hopeful night, the repetition is cyclical and nights like a clubbing night will happen again. This is just one of the ways it relates to the Autumn, That Bastard poetry collection.

You can check out the other poems so far in the collection here:

Leave me your thoughts about this in the comments!