April 13th, 2012
He stands there
Against the glass.
Beard built wild and
Filling his
Face like a monk.
A nervous energy
Makes him
Bounce back and forth,
Rocking on his heels
Like a broken
spring.
He takes from his pocket
A cigarette,
lights it in one movement
And turns to see his
Reflection
In the window.
His reflection pleases him.
Arms showing
Rippled in a wife beater
Bleached white by the sun.
Tensing, he leans
Into his body.
His shaved head
Makes him appear strong.
Self image is important
And smoking
Completes him.
He smokes the cigarette but
Doesn’t inhale,
he exhales too
Quickly.
His movements are nervous
And his energy
Excitable.
It’s all an act and
I find myself
Praising him.
Guitar music plays inside the
Cafe, but
He cannot hear it.
The sound of
People’s voices is his amphitheatre,
Their stolen looks
His public.
I photograph him
And he sees me, and for
A second considers
Something wicked.
But then he just smiles shyly.
Sitting on the bus,
he sat across.
Momentarily he weighed me,
then ignored me.
Then she sat down.
I had noticed her,
but I was minding my own business
through not noticing.
Her thick thighs rubbed,
her shoes click clacking in time,
I looked at her and smiled,
she blushed.
I noticed him scowling
through his solid frame.
Another day my friend and we might have been friends,
now we are rivals.
Another day my friend and we might have fought,
now we sit stoic.
Another day my friend and
I wouldn’t have forced bile back down my throat
when you stood up and
held my breath until you got off the car.
She ignored me then.
I saw a woman on the tube today.
She composed herself a moment
and I paid her no attention
as I listened to my music.
She stood there,
at my shoulder,
her body trembling.
I finally looked up,
listened,
gave her a pound without touching her fingers.
Then she moved on,
her slender old frame trembling.
Some people smirked at her and
she turned into the door,
proudly hiding her tears.
I wanted to help
that proud frail failed woman,
to carry her dignity back to her.
The train stopped and
I cried out in my mind at her,
wait, talk to me, tell me what’s happened,
maybe I can help and heal us both.
The doors opened,
she merged into the faceless crowd.
I did nothing.
I thought about her a moment longer
then went home
to consider what to have for my tea.
You didn’t enjoy that
So I should leave,
She states,
matter of fact.
Her eyes searching
My face
To read a reaction.
It takes a while for me to respond,
My attention lost
In the heave of her breasts
Against the humid air.
Sweat trickles down one mound
To her ribs.
I did enjoy it
My voice cracks,
Detached from my brain.
She shrugs and lights her
compulsory cigarette,
A retreating comfort.
Sex as a concept
Is something
I struggle with.
My mouth forms the words
But they make no sense,
Not even to me.
She doesn’t laugh.
Usually she at least Smiles
When I speak.
Not this time,
Instead she ignores me.
Her lips curl
Around the butt, seductively
Encircling it
Like a soft mollusc.
I feel the stirring
Of a hardness again.
She notices and raises an eyebrow Comically.
The cigarette leaves her mouth,
Her tongue stroking
The taste off it
And I want to fuck her again.
The dress was slightly too small,
Coming up short
Above the knee.
The light cotton
Catching the ever so soft Whistle Of a breeze.
A heavy tattoo
Besmirched the shoulder
And collar bone,
Lending
A serious ‘don’t fuck with me’
Character.
Doc martens boots,
Heavy
And sweaty in
The late sun
Kept the feet planted
Firmly on the concrete.
He drank from a can,
Despite sitting
In the beer garden
Of the pub
That overlooked the main street;
A tourist honey trap.
The jostling was over,
Banter at a ceasefire
Until, when sufficiently
Inebriated,
The dresses would come off.
Metaphorically.
The Stag Troupe
Were gathered around him.
Eager bees
Protecting their queen.
But who is protecting him,
From them?