any room
any street any city town
I knew when she was there
could find her blindfold
in any room full of people
could feel her presence there
I wasn’t sure if this
was a feature of our obsession
our kind of love
this radar something
I could home in on
& then one day
this gift was gone
as was she
& I’ve never felt that
radar something
ever again
bumptious
stupid jobs for silly money
just to get by
pay for things we will never
take with us
anyway
for endless women
who wanted things
as love tokens
as we worked endless hours
shifting things from here
to there & back
I’d last a few weeks
maybe a month
until I found the bumptious one
could be male could be female
but they believed
I should be grateful for
the stupid job for silly money
they would not like my attitude
would make complaints
try to do me in with the boss
these snitches on little better pay
taking the side of the man
being bumptious bootlickers
against people like me
there was a language
they used
different from the words we had
of sheets & blankets
ice on the inside of windows
jack frost they said
wooden clogs on feet
steel toes metal on heels
that sparked in fights
one set of clothes for school
or going to work
one for Sunday church
a coat for winter
jumpers pullovers cardigans
all these words scattered now
like sheep on a hillside
washed in spring sheets blankets
winter clothes
to be put away in cedar chests
until autumn came
a world now gone
those words we listened to
understood not a one
I’d read the words
day night
middle of the day
middle of the night
early late
any fucking time
I’d read words
jot on the line
put down in ink
pencil paintbrush
black
printers ink
& later now
pixels on a screen
I’d need to read
try to say
what I felt important
useful
to me if not to you
I am not supposed to feel
anything about this
my girl with the diaphragm
we dated slept together
for a couple of years
never quite committing
& then
she was pregnant
did not know what to do
we were young
endlessly broke
I had nothing to hold onto
she chose the abortion
because I was too chickenshit
to commit
& now
I have no idea where she is
tho’ I know from friends
she is on her second husband
& I wonder if she thinks of this
if at all
these decisions made
that linger on
what did you used to smoke?
she asked
her own cigarette curling blue wisps
from a tiny silver tin ashtray
Camels I said back
she motioned the barkeep over
got any Camels?
in the machine he pointed
y’need change?
she was off her stool & at the machine
in seconds
oh the signs were there
here she offered on her way back
threw the pack at me
can you get the drinks in?
I need a pee
& after three years off
I was back on the nicotine ride
the signs were there
but I wasn’t listening
just wondering where else
she was gonna take me
would I be able
to hold on
I get snippy responses
to the silly shit I send out
find funny
the dad gags etc
that I use to keep in touch
instead of tedious missives
the strained how are you’s ?
these clog up my ipad
one sends back
take the funny I say
if there is one
then delete
so now she returns a
‘done’
& another don’t wanna
he says think about stuff
anymore
& the mourning begins right there
these people once bright funny
out in the world staking claim
reporting on the absurd everywhere
have begun shrinking themselves
their worlds
y’know
I said to her
as she was making coffee
I think we’re too serious
me? she asked
no we I said
though to be fair
I should probably own it more
we’re too serious
the word is crazy
you me we
can do all the right things
eat drink exercise right
& Bam!
a bus kills you
or a cancer comes in
to finish you off
& what did you me we do
to deserve any of that?
but she wasn’t listening
the coffee had her mind
& these words
had mine
sometime in the night
lying there immobilised
with memories
plural you’ll note
of difficult times
where I did not behave well
created my own problems
hurt pissed off
other people
& I can tell my self
clear as I will tell you
if you could have
done better
you would have
done better
but no
I continue to offer myself
guilt recriminations
even though
I know none of those people
any more
or can do anything
about those difficult times
& I drift off
into difficult dreams
our free version of:
the Mirambeau truckstop
where Mick the truck driver
would stop over
the good relais
pick up any messages
get a meal have a few beers
& be off early in the am
a few years had gone by
since we’d last met up
his first wife had died
then there’d been the Scot
a couple of others
where nothing worked out
& then puff of smoke
he disappeared
& travelling through mirambeau
I remembered his post restante
left a note for him there
& if ever i pass by again
I ask if there is a note for me
there never is
very probably never will be
but one day
there just may be
