I’ve been so busy I let my poor blog sit by the wayside. I hope to get some blogging done over Spring Break.
More a gaggle; not a gang.
A tumble of tangled MA-1s, Harringtons and Fish-tales,
Happy camaraderie and shuffling change to make the bill.
I remember that first miraculous day you joined us.
Rangy and brooding, sliding coolly into the booth opposite me,
You kicked your foot up on the bench, and picked up the teapot
Without a thought or a word.
Easy and smoldering you sat and watched.
Cautious eyes glinting in the half-light,
Reticent and immutable next to our clamorous clan.
When you spoke, your deep doleful tones
Threw mysterious Midlothian morpheme
Into the midst of our Kentish clap-trap.
You ran your hand through neat inky waves of hair
And smiled gently, mocking the petty yabbering
Of my girls in cloistered calumny behind you.
You scanned the room, and my heart
Stammered and stayed as your eyes passed me by
But I wasn’t really there, surely?
Three weeks the same routine.
We sat in companionable silence and
Always I wondered at my existence in this crowd.
And when you asked me to the dance
Then I blushed full proud and warm at that
Resounding confirmation – I was there.
I was lost forever that evening you arrived.
The lambent lambretta purring in the yard,
Polished and glossy; the myriad mirrors and chrome
Flashing dangerously in the streetlight blaze.
You were pristine in your snowy Fred Perry,
And your sharp tonic suit danced brightly
As you moved to clasp that sparkling pin
At the throat of my eager, untouched and
Imploring dog-tooth check.
You held my hand softly and told me of your suffering and loss,
And my untroubled cushion of sanguine security,
A salving balm to your bruised soul
Drew you to me tightly like lacing chords.
You called my eyes a “soothing shade of honest blue,”
And in the oily, onyx pool of my pernot and black,
A braver girl smiled back at me.
In that fervid hall the ruckus echoed faintly.
The Mad Monks in the mosh pit slamming,
South Scooter Boys holding Ace court flicking
Cards, artfully in the ardent air, mod girls mooning
Dreamily at foreign fancies;
All veiled in my opiate heaven.
Two years in revival sanctuary spent.
Summers stretched warmly out
In Memorial park, or drifting smoothly
Along ambrosial Avon. Blissful, balmy
Nights in eiderdown encumbered.
Soul nites, rallies, racing days,
And peaceful couching evenings played
The soundtrack to our mod-el life.
You had a gentle wit and made me laugh;
“That polar bear looks just like Ginny K”
You said, and I nudged you
Hushing your puckish play.
And now I wonder if you told her
That night on Brighton Pier,
Your furtive dissembling unraveling
In double time?
I watched you squinting back the smoke
From your No. 6, casually flipping your trick
To the tabletop.
You looked up to smile, but regarded me warily.
Did you see the honest blue deepen to an anguished green?
You came to me and brushed my cheek;
Placing burning lips, a Judas kiss on my pale face;
That tender voice now cloying in an artful whisper,
“Lets get out of here.”
Scooping the cards up underhand,
Sliding them deftly into the deck,
You led me away, trailing in insignificance.
I arrived late that next soul nite,
But I saw you by the backdoor in
The pitchy shadows. Your sullied
Shirt untucked and tangled, reflecting slyly
In the pale illumination of that EXIT light.
And Ginny, buckled to your silky banter,
Wormy in the murky recess,
Scheming with inscrutable slight
Of hand to tug those teasing chords apart.
I, blighted and benumbed, stumbled
From that Delphian darkness,
Desolate through the spinning crowds.
Secret Affair, then Poison Ivy succumbed to
Bitterest Pill and Love Reign o’er Me,
Mixing my emotions.
Garry gathered my broken pieces
And hushed me away; and you
Oblivious, subsumed in sub-rosa snuggling,
Sank into that stygian polar den.
The end came swiftly for us all.
Tallie and Tim ran away.
Dan set off to seek his fortune.
Rhianne said Don forced her.
He was never the same.
Garry said, “You’ll always have me,”
And left with the Navy 3 weeks later,
Sinking then, in searing, screaming, spasm
On the Ardent in the Falkland Sound.
And you, too slick and smart to face the
Stain of your Snake deceit,
Sailed away astride your shimmering scooter,
Silvery fumes scattering behind you.
Ginny glowering from the pavement met my gaze,
And I smiled.
Baleful, blistered, and bleak I
Turned to the west and
My last Waterloo Sunset.