The golden light trickles
through the thin curtains
and dances a warming tread
across the floor

She, in slumber, turns her
back to the window
to maintain the darkness
and sleep’s rest

Look
over here
its a man
in plastic
wrapped
like a butcher’s product
not dead
wriggling
one end leaking expletives

and here
again
some woman
stands
in front of the mirror
unaware that it is broken
shattered through her looks
and gazes into her eyes
trying to find new meaning

the brochures from the car manufacturers
all promise a new life
with untold dreams and adventures
a new car brings youth and beauty
if not you, then the insincere fuck
who thinks you to be rich
dynamic
or less bland than your wheels

its all the same
aside from the specialist motors
the hearse companies
the dreams they peddle are more permanent
the new life is open to debate
there’s no need for a cup holder
although one for the urn would be useful
and the test drive is never repeated

On the stairs
talking to someone new
i think
that i knew others
but it didn’t work like that
when they were trying to pull

but the stairs are
a good vantage point
traditional party furniture
stairs and the kitchen table

the house is big
not all the rooms are open
one being full of coats and couples
shagging

but mainly its okay

and though the cellar rooms
were nearly very good
its the stairs I like best
with the landing and
the person I met

and liked, and tried to impress
until taken over
once again
by insecurity
roll ups
and
another bottle of wine

She looks at me
hard
and the pub seems silent
waiting for her call

“Why do you always have to do this?”

i look back
at her
over her shoulder
there’s a clock behind the bar
and I can see that its nearly time

“You always do this.”

If I can get past her, somehow,
I can get another beer in
before the bell tolls the death
of serving

“Getting drunk”

I’m not sure I’ll get away with it
she seems angry
and
its not even that time of the month

“Its not fair”

Finally, something I agree with
looking sadly ahead, as
the shutters come down on the bar
I’ll need to ride the evening
with some degree of consciousness remaining

“I’m going”

And I could let her go, but
I love her
and anyway
She’s got the keys to the hotel

Amended 15 May 2005

The woman I met
at the bus stop
was standing
staring
making notes
and trying to photograph us
so I asked

“What are you doing?”

She told me that
she was putting faces
to names, and
that life is a jigsaw

I didn’t understand,
and she pulled out a
crumpled piece of paper

“Look at this”, she said

It was a cv
It wasn’t mine

“I work in personnel and
I’ve got the CVs of
all of the people who apply”

I asked her why, and she said
that she was
collecting lives

and then the bus came
she didn’t get on
but I saw her, from the window
attaching more faces to names
regardless of fit

life’s a puzzle, see
but if you cheat you can make it work