For James, and the PSR
A swift flick, swerve
Placed us here
In this grey-washed atrium
watching television on the
floor- they gave us nowhere to sit.
Even in that moment I felt
a strange lilt in my heart.
Two bulls:
dumb, headstrong, naive, smug,
stubborn, and born with a
recalcitrant need to be known
made use of, and loved.
Oceans in our eyes
and rainforests in our hearts.
Besides that, nothing in common.
But still, you saw me smile
and wheeled or wobbled over
to attend to me.
Last I saw you, it was there,
with that poor, poor girl
(elle, elle est morte
elle est morte
et lorsque tu te rends ce compte…)
And there were bugs under
my skin.
And you told me of my future
And hung your head
And asked if I forgave you
I said yes, and meant it -
that’s why I haven’t called since