The glass door
We get round to it at last
though at night
for reasons which aren’t clear
no music, no flowers
both of us squashed in here
behind this small table
in front of a bunch of strangers
and I’m wearing stilettos
and the hat with the black feathers
that always makes you laugh
but, when I close in for the kiss
you’ve gone
and it takes forever
running through a chain
of shuttered rooms
before I find you again
on the far side
of this locked glass door
and I’ve lost the hat
and you’re standing there
on some kind of terrace
with a woman in a red dress
both with your backs to me
and when I tap on the pane
the two of you turn
to stare back, unsmiling
and I call out your name
and break through the glass
but you’re not there any more
just a lot of blood -
on my hands and everywhere,
everywhere.
Page(s) 35
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