Poem 341

Hit by the thunderbolt … managed to meet her but always felt hopelessly gauche … at least I could have a sense of humour about it …

Nothing’s Going To Happen

Ms Elegance
                           don't turn your haircut on me

so long since I sighted the back of your head
and said if only the front is the same
(I know what I mean here)
then I'll give up the struggle
all the demon wrestling and fly fishing
and love you

but in all truth
it was your voice that did it
such a murmurous Marilyn Monroe
from out of your 1930s exquisite bookworm
face

I was shocked
I gave up lying
I never asked people I knew
who I knew knew you
to tell me anything
about you
it would have been like handing them my spine

now here we are
over a cup of tea
bound and weighted hand and foot
so that even to reach for a chocolate biscuit
is a vast risk
in case my hand takes hold of yours
(no
not your biscuit)

and nothing
                         is going to happen
we both barely listen 
to me rambling
                               something about my new line of work
rescuing old pianos
washed up on the shore