Black window

APRIL 12 05

He had once loved.

Congealing gloom

in the narrowing watchful moments

gleaming in their own light.

 

'As if it was my turn.'

He kept saying it

over and over,

a premonition without a foothold,

unable to get purchase,

fading into indistinguishable ordinary thoughts.

 

Sky dark as dusk

the tall windows growling with indifference

the City's financial fortress walls

this ant on the pavement

separated from his reflection.

A man is staring at him through the black window.

 

The cold gazes of strangers.

He pisses in a narrow alley

watching an office couple

snogging on a rusty fire escape.

His piss steam smells of cornflakes.

 

All he knows is that he once loved.

He is unable to complete the song

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam

Pop goes the weasel.

 

Ironing crumpled silver foil on his trouser leg

taking the corrugations of his corduroys

ploughed silver field

herring gulls reflected

in the black window.

 

The streets littered with bones,

a lemon slice stuck in a dog turd.

Chips. Chips. Chips everywhere.

At the mercy of chips

for the love of Jesus

take these chips away.

 

Largely unnoticed

who once loved

under this sky as dark as dusk

that the wind has left to die,

his fiancée running her hand

through his hair

reflected in the black window.

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