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Sport 20: Autumn 1998

Seven Hectic Takes

page 65

Seven Hectic Takes

She's scornful; she's cross.
Or you hear in her laughter
the menace of sex.

You're rehearsing worship.
You're preparing a place in yourself.

You court her—none too bravely.
Give chocolates, a card.
You catch her wearing a sloppy pullover.

She's kind, capricious, lazy.
You're very aware of her bust;
you're all of a sudden aware
of her very breasty breasts.

‘Visit. Ring. Do something.
Spare me you frivolous silence,’ you write.
She unbuckles (you imagine) some Adonis.
Her fingers fastidiously weigh
cleft mauve tulip, balls.

And now, ah ha,
the fat brick wall of nothing,
of no further events—
beyond what doesn't happen
of happens only for you,
in your imagination.

The sun comes up. The buses move.
A strange estrangement fills the weeks and months.
Do birds explain or bees apologise?
You remember her devoutly.