Exacting, Exactly.
Exacting, Exactly.
There’s a man who’s got busy on your island.
And, you met him and he said you said of me
“I knew a girl from Canada once, she was crazy!”
But he took a sip of his drink, knew you’d say this
of all women who expose you, you’re atrocious.
And you know just how to make it
so it’s justifiable when you ghost them.
He said you do indeed have the dead-deadened eyes.
And you went to the toilet like with me several times.
And when you said, “are you from Canada, then?”
He lied…
Under cover, “I’m American and never been to London.”
In this work, I never asked him, nor gave him any directions.
Remember, they don’t know who we are.
We last left each other in London.
Your band, my book – still stuck back in Britain.
You’ve no idea how I wear my hair.
When the man returned from the South Pacific
He looked at my hands, he said: “Wow. Intense.”
“Yes, I know, I wrote he thought my hands were like a witch’s.”
Perhaps, he laughed, but it was more than this.
“In your mannerisms, you are both twins:
Exact, and efficient.”
But I thought ‘how lazy I was in thought!
Getting drunk, not giving a fuck in London town!’
“But that is when he watched…inconspicuous.”
But I thought ‘how bullshit he was in words!
Saying shit that was so rude and absurd!’
“But that is how you were alert…in silence.”
There’s a man who’s got busy on my continent.
And, he met me and he said he knew you, I said,
“I knew a guy from over there once, he was…”
Exacting?
Exactly.
That was it.
Sylvie Hill 2017