I must be blind not to see and feel her
with my eyes
at the same moment
women’s voices London
‘if ‘ for Raymond Chandler
‘if I had a gun to her back she couldn’t,
wouldn’t, stand by me.’
why?
love is a foreign dream for her…words, bought presents but not a ‘presence’ in a real, hurtful moment.
a hurtful moment? what is a hurtful moment?
when you find out that a loved, a loved one,
one who is now both unfaithful &
faithless
when they hurt you…without prayerful listening.
when there is no human touch
when she does not hear; listen; trust or believe
or he
hurt, not healing
death, not life
faithless
in their unfaithfulness
can you, just stop hurting me? that is my prayer
You can’t; so
hurt
he, doesn’t really care
grey hair in strings,
belly
totally, totally exposed from the ribs to trouser belt
but you have no belt on the sweat pants
because sweat pants are for us, the sad and
Sadly overweight
we stare straight ahead and walk all in slimming black
that fails
all fails,
falls
we walk
on the Northern line
on the Northern line
to older women in light, coloured jumpers,
to the older woman in the lightly covering jumper on just
your shoulders in July
your body is cooling, dying in London’s July heat as the ancient King David, he at least was given a beautiful virgin to keep him warm, he had an Abishag, a ‘very beautiful girl; she took care of the king and waited on him, but the king had no intimate relations with her.’
did you ever think that you would be so cold in July on the tube, without a lover’s hand, their eye, to caress and warm you?
the two young blondes women to your right and
your left have no jump-
-ers
they sit
-one in a white light sleeveless top, the other in a black tank top, both have their eyes fixed straight ahead
Focused on a
A future stop
it has not arrived, yet
they are waiting on flat black heels not seeing you, your bluish purple hands
your engagement ring on top of your large gold wedding band, your left hand on the side of your face
where is that man, that woman, that person who loved you?
a business trip?
a divorce?
Separation or a
death?
Alone, as your blonde companions,
Your eyes closed, then open, then closed again you see them
try not to go past
your stop
it will come soon
the rest, silence
the rest, silence
Is the words ‘I don’t love you anymore.’
all that
different than ‘I don’t love you enough to do that?’
I don’t know; or want to know. Only a touch, a desire, her flawed memory Is
needed a need, my need.
Silence is, has a beauty containing it
silence whispers, ‘perhaps’
‘perhaps’
it is
my rest,
my, mine
silence, a rest
women’s voices. London 1
women’s voices on London buses, trains. Angry, low, fast and choppy. Never too loud. Phone voices, voices. And a non emotional voice ‘this is a Central line train to Epping.’ Calm reassuring. A sister’s, a mother’s voice.
Still
I don’t know how many times I have to tell you
You moved the project and didn’t listen to
But Scott listen to the sequence and hear why I am somewhat cross with you
What?
Yes tomatoes -then drinks?
The outcome needs to change Scott. Can you see my side? Listen-
‘This is Hackney Wick. This is the London Over ground service to Stratford the next station is Stratford.’
‘Mind the step.’
Hello B… I am yes are you ok I am going into Stratford and have a cab to catch bye.
Black tonight. Yes. Tonight.
‘This is Stratford our final stop. Thank you for riding the London over ground.’
Scott, good, so we
drafts 