A Louse (1994)

I took a pencil  
for the weight that sat too heavy on my head      
and on the left side      
snatched a coaster. I scanned the room      
for a muse      
or some amusement      
perhaps, something to crush      
the languid loneliness      
like a butterfly in the hand and there      
was you,      
thank Zeus for you,      
thank your Mother,      
your Father      
however they raised you -  
for however long.      
     
I began to address your features,      
the loose highlights in your hair,      
the black pumps, band tee,    
leather watch and knee length shorts,      
the sort of thing some wouldn't care for      
but I know what it's like      
to want to sink into woodwork      
to chat to wood worms rather than humans, you mutter      
something to the keeper of the glasses      
in this damp space and he brings      
you something deep purple which you chase with something clear.    
I have no eyes for others,    
completely suckered in to you    
and the chips in your paintwork.
     
I suppose you look to have it all      
together,      
only our sort would know the truth,      
ones who walk to high bridges on Sunday afternoon.    
A man comes to ruffle your feathers, makes me stiffen      
from neck to foot      
but you handle it      
masterfully      
as I continue to perfect your jaw      
on a light coloured coaster that had been folded across      
twice or more.      
     
The bearded fellow that one expects to find
wasting his good years      
asks me what I'll sup or words      
to that effect      
and I bite for sweet cider      
aged in a whiskey cask. Your eyes      
meet mine a moment, look away, rereturn,      
a secondary deer in the headlights,      
nude lipstick,      
mascara      
slightly bruised.      
I want to move      
over, to let my lids linger heavily on your mouth      
as you tell me of your working day, of      
the plans that have gone south,      
of the reasons you ended up here      
drinking at 4pm      
but it would ruin it, we both know it,      
and there's something honest about being here    
in a loneliness of not quite loneliness    
enjoying the survival    
of two people,    
infatuated in little,    
if anything at all.