Sunday
Jul182010

Linen Trousers

There’s
a smirk
implied
when
you ask
me
how I’m
finding
the life
I’ve chosen.

I swallow it whole without choking.
- Oh how interesting! you say.

It’s all
interesting
if you don’t
have to do it.
You take  
me to a
restaurant
I could
never
afford.

On the way we step in a puddle.
You curse the gutter then the rain then the traffic.

Over
crystal
glasses,
I parody
myself
for you
while you
display          
your
feathers.

My ankles are cool.
Your linen trousers are ruined.

Sunday
Jul182010

We were Talking about the Gas Bill

It was the fingers
snuffling through her hair
like fat noses
that silenced us.

Sprawled across
the first two seats
of a double-decker bus

they whispered
something syrupy
in cigarette-stung voices.

You folded yourself
into the dusty space
between the cushion
and the window

and we fastened our hands together like seat belts.

Sunday
Jul182010

First Kiss

Her laughter broke the silence
like a shower of bullets.
He brushed it into a pile on the desk
and counted the pieces as she ghosted

behind the shelves with a book.
The phone bill, the essay, the clattering
of rain-beads outside the library
all halted. In her eyes:
 
chestnut sparrows’ caps
and crunchy leaves; hot fudge,
 brazil nuts and rabbits.
She smiled suddenly –

– awkwardly – and he
swept up the pieces of his silence
with both hands; blew them
between the shelves in a kiss.




Sunday
Jul182010

Breakfast

Breakfast means work is
a step closer; if I don’t
eat can I stay home?

Sunday
Jul182010

Weekend

That Sunday Feeling:
it has been plaguing me since
Saturday morning.

Sunday
Jul182010

Forever

Sometimes I doubt that
I want to see your hair turn
grey and grey and grey.

Sunday
Jul182010

Off

The curtains close like
eyelids on a dream: footsteps
soft and close and far.

Sunday
Jul182010

Bones

If I could go back and pick out the bones,
I’d fish out the moment I told you I loved you
and wrap it instead in a parcel of muslin,

infuse it slowly,

see if you noticed.