This poem arrived as I was having a shower. It needed little coaxing, though it is totally fiction.
She had stood in front of me
modelling anger
I’m finished with you
I can’t now remember why
so assume it was because of my adultery
[it usually was in those days]
on the steps of the library
passers by smiled
discretely stopped to watch
Her hands are on her hips
...and don’t put me in one of those things
you try and pass off as plays
some unsympathetic character
bemoaning the hero
who transparently is you
not that anyone would ever give it a read through
She stormed off
in anger not tears
and I didn’t and I haven’t
until this last minute
stood in the shower
when it all returned
and just now
when I wrote it down
Sometimes ideas just arrive and you have to respond to them. The fear is that if you do not they will stop coming. Again this is only as draft. It needs more work.
Do you remember Pauline Murray? I've been listening to her lp with the Invisible Girls a lot lately. Here is the single.
Until next time.
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