Monday, September 28, 2009


By Yusuf Martin

You were Cliff
I was John

We didn't belong on the same planet
Let alone the same family

When you discarded lumberjack shirts and blue jeans
I donned military jacket
Put flowers in my hair

You stopped being a bachelor boy
I became a walrus

You had kids
I had orgasms

You - weeding
I - weed

There was no way that we were going to sit at the Christmas table and share wishbones

You have your Jag
I - an ageing Rocksta

Hidden in rubbery veins
Red neck corpuscles
Runs the same DNA
At a time
You might ask Y

© 2009 Yusuf Martin

Listen to this poem:

Old Hippy, former bookbinder repairer and restorer, dustman, road sweeper, factory worker, mental hospital porter, graphic designer, digital artist, social worker, guest curator at one of London’s most prestigious museums, now exclusively writes short stories and essays from his country home overlooking lakes in the South East Asian countryside.

Yusuf Martin was born in London but lived mostly in East Anglian, England, briefly in India and has finally retired and settled in rural Malaysia, amidst the water buffalo and civets.
He has written several short stories published in collections in Malaysia including Silverfish New Writing 5 (2006); Silverfish New Writing 7 (2008); Urban Odysseys, due shortly from MPH; and an essay for New Malaysian Essays 2, due next year by Mata Hari.

Yusuf is currently putting the finishing touches to a book of short stories about kampung life in Malaysia (Kampung Tales) , writing more fantasy stories about a bomoh (shaman) called Melvyn, magic and ghosts (Melvyn the Bomoh) and a novel based upon his social work experiences (The Unsocial Worker).

Yusuf's sites:

1 comment:

  1. I like the last stanza, especially the way the lines were enjambed..


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