Thursday, 3 January 2013

Tentative Steps Into Dancing

In a street – a suburb of some forgotten seaside town
an upstairs room of smoking blue in the fading daylight
- advancing twilight, wearing a shirt like a monk's habit
sitting cross-legged, cutting,projecting, or at least trying to,
the figure of a well-seasoned man of the world
into the gloom.

A girl in a khaki-parka down from Oxford or
Cambridge or some other far-flung exotic
place in the world far from the forklift
truck industrial unit that makes up your
day.

How you got here, arrived in this place -
the dots are too far distant for joining
but others are arriving
bringing light pushing
back the dark – music playing
limbs swaying.

Turning off the light that's interrogating your head
a set of aluminium step-ladders lean
against a shelf of magazines
         fashion, photography, 
         interiors, garden schemes

a golden orb surrounded by six
marbled satellites
floats its flight
across the room
and although you follow
from the corner of your eye
you are beyond fully following.

Sudden explosion, eruption
disturbance in the night:
voices raised

lean up onto your elbow
realise that it's coming
from the darkness
of your living room
below.

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