Answers
Answers
I’ll never forget her fakeness.
How she jumped up on me
When I returned from the toilet.
Spun me around like a princess.
Freaked out her wowness
“Look! We’ve finally met!!”
Her enthusiasm was incongruent.
Her sentiments, how she twirled me, inauthentic.
At the table on my end
She talked till my fucking ears bled.
I listened, with my sunglasses
As the sun off that London egg reflected
And you at your end
Same glare and in Rayban sunglasses
Amidst the talk, we listened.
I saw you staring at my tits.
That group was there, good-hearted
We met as collaborators and friends.
But looking back at that situation
Did you feel us – electric?
Did you think of nights on the Internet?
You off Brick Lane studio me in my den?
Writing, have a beer and you’d connect.
We’d discuss your song until bed.
I’ll never forget
how I made a plan with another gent:
Meet at half four at the British Museum.
Wasn’t going to stick around for you, man!
But we went to Covent Garden.
You did your thing in signals meant
To say “You know what I’m like, I told you… dick”
Followed by, “You’ve not seen much of London, yet?”
I’ll never forget how she giggled like a banshee
I was right along there with her trying to be girly.
It was my way to diffuse nerves, nausea and dreams
Your reactions were moot, what were you thinking?
And on the bridge over the Thames, why was she asking:
“Is there something going on between you two?” Inquiry.
“You’ll have to ask him,” I said politely.
“He is a free agent, has a love in New Zealand, I believe.”
By the time we hit the pub he was being so nice
To the British Museum guy now joining us.
He was saying flattering things about my writing.
Said we should collaborate, truncate the sexy things.
And I drank the death drink: Asahi.
And you invited me to a Dalston party.
And when dinner came up: “I can show you to sushi”
Twice and my brain was foggy, not listening.
And I distinctly remember convincing
The girl to come to us for dinner, “I’m paying!”
Her uncertainty now I see too clearly:
Were you trying to have it be just you and me?
And I wanted a cigarette and you got us some smokes
And you blew it into the air like at 12 Bar years ago.
And you offered 20 pounds, I said “no! No! NO!”
Did you empathize with my demise and descending low?
It was only when I got back to Canada, maybe weeks
That I realized the wine you got us: “Poésie.”
A little sign, your way of saying “I know you.” Indeed.
I was trying to die that night, and you would not let me…
And amidst all stories, poems and tales
There was you painted like the devil.
But a lover once told me I was pure evil.
My vulnerability exposed – I turn caring men into saviors.
…only when I don’t give myself over to them again after trials.
And when I do under justice, they will think me Angel.
And to each of us both, let’s be savers.
What led you to here they’ll ask, and we both know our answers.
Sylvie Hill 2017