December 12, 2010
Around ten thirty we emerge from the restaurant
full of crab meat and oysters and shrimp.
A queue is blocking our way and it’s cold in London,
colder than I remember
blue claws reaching inside every layer of clothing –
a merciless reminder of suffering oblivious to appeals
We push through the line, politely.
It’s full of these young girls – identical fabulous dolls – straight hair, straight backs, high heels, short skirts, makeup, gloriously mechanical in a
Henry Ford take on lust on a conveyor belt towards loud music and alcohol
once the black maw of the club swallows them
Why they are standing here and
who knows what they’re looking for
not me I don’t.
Their long legs defy cold and night
and their impatience makes air tremble.
Their anticipation steams and my breath steams
escapes escapes escapes
all around us and we can find no answers
here, or elsewhere
We walk away full of wonder,
He gets prepared to travel.
I get prepared for solitude.
We continue with our goodbyes