I met her at my mate Andy’s flat. We clicked instantly, we talked for hours and hours, about this and that, stone circle and prehistoric mega-trees, Andy looked bored. We spoke about post-apocalyptic sniper-hicks in post-drowned-world Fens, Andy was blinking off somnolence. I told her about my imaginary film staring me, me and only me. When suddenly she got up, left. I grabbed my coat, Andy was already asleep. I fumbled with gloves as I closed the door behind me in a hurry. She called out, as she disappeared behind a parked van, round the corner “you know, I’d really love to read your screenplay some day”. And I still yearning for connection, yelled back “I’m home tomorrow afternoon, if you want to come over, for a cup of tea”. My voice fell dead across a dark empty street.
I don’t think she heard me.
From the chapbook – Clutches of Love
back to Homepage