POEM: “Ms Shiva Shiva vs The Train Wreck” — and the famous one between us / was the one doing the rescuing.
Ms Shiva Shiva vs The Train Wreck
Oh, I how I wanted to carry her case
and get her water.
Support Ms Shiva as she walked across
with her camera on the dance floor.
Filming the rockstars
and documenting their looks
and I love to do that in writing,
PR, and hooks. (And for you – books).
Not by love or starfucking
or groupie hanger-onners.
But these wild boys of talents
with my skills I could honour.
And I wanted to get her a drink:
she didn’t stop all night!
And she serious in her profession,
and her photos snapped in spotlight.
Shiva Shiva, a mysterious woman
as I too was/am was among musicians
walking into rooms full of faces
all eyes on me as the missus.
And in London, it was best
I didn’t know Liam Watson.
And flashed my tits
in Camden to the guy from the red carpet.
That I talked of university
to whom was apparently
the roommate of the guitarist
in that band led by Morrissey.
And how the man I tried to forge
bonds with on the label of Boy George
told Billy Corrigan to go fuck himself
and had a Camberwell marjoram garden emporium.
Maybe because Secret Me
was me secretly free in the orderly
and the famous one between us
was the one doing the rescuing.
Oh, how I wanted to carry her case
and get her water.
Support Ms Shiva Shiva as she walked across
the dance floor.
Filming the rockstars
and documenting their looks
and I love to do that in writing,
PR, and hooks.
“I thought you were a band manager”
he said to me from a train in London
when we used to talk more
and before he convinced you to stop it.
“I’ll give you 20% fee as manager”
he said from the bar paying in Bloomsbury.
“Oh no it’s OK, I’ll do it for free,”
something about a silver platter?
When Shiva Shiva shivvied on the dance floor
And Reuben played the best song on the album
I wanted to listen but I was caught up in it
connecting dots to some pizza and a man up Auckland.
Ruined again – my own moment
compelled to share the epic
with a bearded Kiwi, musician like he
and stories from the road, with personality.
And the last man I loved
I took him like a son
and isn’t that the deal
with these musicians?
“You can never be with an artist”
“Guy must have a real job”
A man to look after me
Instead of me doing the babying.
Such artists and their egos
That I care for like their mothers
I surely care for the boys like babies.
Could you not keep care of me like a sister?
(My hair has gone grey like hers.)
Shiva Shiva with her straight face,
she doesn’t let on that she owns the place.
And that was always my vibe when I walked in the bar.
I was going to consume the musician,
and everything you are.
But oh how Ms Shiva captures with grace.
And you watched me take you
like a train wreck.
Sylvie Hill, Feb 24, 2020, Montreal