do you imagine you are happy there? with that
bucket of champagne and
that cynical makeup smirk painted on your lip?
do you imagine you are profound, the way you
slide your eye over every
class act that saunters through the door?
do you imagine you sit straight and proud? your
head is tilting, swaying, nodding;
your heavy, unconscious lids –all give you away
do you imagine you’re provocative? sure, there
may be a writer
romancing you over here in the corner on her green-felt-tip but
do you really imagine you’re impressive?
mysterious?
in your wool suit, this summer day?
that you can laugh at us knowingly; utterly
unknowingly, it seems to me,
and still keep the pearlies open for your own
judgement day?
you look unhappy to me and lonely whatsmore
i see you blinking against your will
shutting out some sad reality you
cannot quite face
have you been disgraced? deserted? stood up?
shouldn’t you call your mother just about now?
is that what this comes down to? do you chuckle all the way down in you?
or is
that just the show you put on for anyone who may happen to catch it?
when you stare into space like that and miss your
lips with
the edge of your glass is it your subconscious or your very soul who
laughs loudest? they are not one and the same
are you another drunk crime-writer living out of
cases in smoochy hotel rooms
with their velvet touch-and-feel wallpaper of paisley
and stunted shoots?
is your snicker audible? i cannot hear you from
over here
do you laugh or grunt? when was your last joy?
how came it to be so stunted?
are you a retired wino? or an aspiring one?
when did you give up on yourself?
will you end up on the pavement or in the drain?
do you care?
London High
St Kensington Cafe
