st andrews

We were sitting in a café.
At a table under the window were a man and a woman.
She was drinking coffee and
He was reading a newspaper.
There was tension in the way she sat
And I slowly realised she was crying
Her shoulders moved and her head was bowed but there was no sound.
It was as if she was behind an invisible barrier.
On television with the sound turned down.
The man continued to read his paper.
A waitress took the coffee cup away.
The woman looked up and stared at this man,
At his face.
She could not break his poise.
Not even when she kicked him suddenly and violently under the table.
After she had left,
He sighed quietly.
It was the first sound either had made
And I barely caught it,
As I looked away.

like narnia

There is a fly cruising close
To the ceiling and I swear to
God it just spelt out my name
In its flight path.
If it had been farting smoke even now
‘Catherine’
would be slowly dispersing in the
breeze from an open window.
In this city;
He has hold of her ankle and strokes her,
Mollifying.
Hypnotising her into the room.
Her attention has wandered.
If levitation were possible she’d be doing it now.
Floating up towards the ceiling.
Drifting off.
Banging her head against the lampshade.
Spinning round and round,
If he’d only let go.
He hands her a joint,
A soporific.
A calm persuasion to linger there
And be persuaded.
He turns the heater on full blast.
It makes a distant whirring noise,
As the air in the room is slowly stewed.
He spills beer on the carpet and knocks over a candle.
He bangs into her as he goes into the kitchen to find a cloth.
He makes tea.
He puts on a video and fast forwards past the trailers.
He makes more tea.
His activity is generating a warmth of its own.
She realises then she’s not going to leave.

I am waiting.
Lighting candles.
Where are you now?
Playing distant.
I’m tired.
Drowsy music, soft lights.
Lying on the carpet listening.
You’re beautiful with my eyes closed.
Brilliant when you’re silent.
So much better at waiting.
Hard to face your actual presence.
Flames gutter.
Music too quiet.
I can’t hear it when you speak.
We make a picnic on the floor.
Coffee and toast and muted conversation.
Talking, I’m still waiting.
Take a moment to make a wish.

In a bar in Toledo, across from the depot,
On a barstool she took off her ring.
I thought I’d get closer,
So I walked on over.
I sat down and asked her her name.
When the drinks finally hit her,
She said ‘I’m no quitter,
But I’ve finally stopped living on dreams.
I’m hungry for laughter,
And here ever after,
I’m after whatever the afterlife brings’.

In the mirror I saw him,
And I closely watched him.
For a minute I thought I was dead..
But I couldn’t hold her,
For the words that he told her,
Kept coming back time after time.

I wish for?
Curled up on the sofa she waits for him.
When he finally arrives he sidles past her,
Insinuating himself into the room in a way so unattractive to her,
She wishes she had never met him.
His clothes are ugly.
His skin blotchy pink and damp from windy streets.
She refuses to listen to the voice in her head,
Which lists each irritating feature,
As if marking him for style and content.
She runs a bath.
Pouring scented oil under the hot tap,
She breathes in steam and perfume.
She puts a cd player by the door,
And leaves him to soak and dream.
‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me’,
he says as he sinks beside her,
smelling of lavender.
His face is flushed from the heat.
She remembers the White Witch,
Dispensing Turkish Delight to a boy in order to betray him.
When she tells him she doesn’t want to see him anymore,
His face goes perfectly blank.
Turned to stone, she can no longer tell what he’s thinking,
And no longer cares to know.