To visit Brian's new Prose Showcase on the site, click here or to visit the website of Brian's writing group, Writers Against Writing, click here
'THE TWENTY' by Brian Cuninghame
I sold my car today,
It had been
in my family for
fifteen years, now.
I came home from work
and there was
twenty pounds sitting
on my bed, and
no car
in the driveway.
I didn't notice the car
wasn't there, but I noticed
the twenty on the bed.
I went out and spent it
on beer and vodka at night
and drank away the memories
that didn't really exist
anyway.
Camping when I was ten,
The beach when I was twelve.
Youth and memories
substituted by the twenty.
Who wants a drink?
And it's away,
no car,
no twenty, just
memories.
� Brian Cuninghame
Reproduced with permission
'A MEETING IN THE RAIN' by Brian Cuninghame
I met her
one night,
In the rain,
After I�d been at the Cenny.
She looked good, and I
was drunk.
I asked if we were
just friends?
�Oh, I didn�t mean to
lead you on.�
She said.
And I said it was okay,
But it
wasn�t.
The rain got heavier,
and I told her about
how guys can�t be,
just friends,
with girls.
But she didn�t
understand.
The rain turned to sleet,
and I tried some more,
To make her realise.
And she liked me,
but �not in
that way.�
It snowed,
and we parted
on okay terms.
I walked home,
and got soaked,
Outside and
Inside.
� Brian Cuninghame
Reproduced with permission
'WAITING' by Brian Cuninghame
I sat in front of my PC,
surrounded by
the same old clutter
that never seemed to tidy itself up.
The half drunk drinks
from last night,
or the night before,
and the half worn clothes
lying about my room.
Listening to the same old tapes
time and time
again,
the music engraving on my brain.
The bed covers crumpled,
from the sex earlier in the day.
And I sat here,
sticking to my five hundred words a day,
letting it all come out,
whatever it was.
Sipping left over cheap wine,
as my money
from all those years of
hard (!) work
disappeared.
I didn�t give a fuck
about going back to breaking my back
for someone else to
get rich off.
I was just waiting,
and waiting,
Till I started making it off the writing.
Letting page after page
pile up.
The making it wasn�t important
What I liked was the writing
and the
waiting.
