what lies beneath

A woman with a woolly hat pulled over her eyes on a warm night
Sobbed, over the fence. Quietly, consistently. Like this was a
Way of getting through every evening. I was on the phone, in
Shirtsleeves, in the dark yard at the back of the argentine
Restaurant. Later I’d flip a steak at the grill, throw a chorizo
On the floor. The voice on the other end of the phone laughed.
It made me happy. Hearing its music was part of my way
To get through the evening, and the days that will follow
The evenings.

There’s a hippo on the telly, mud caked.
Pelicans shiver in the snow. A carrot-nosed snowman looks
Like he’s about to weep. It’s another life on the other side
Of the screen. There’s other lives lurking just out of reach.
If you get lucky, one might just slip through a looking glass
Crack. A Siberian tiger rushing the camera, leaps through
The blessed bubble, lands in my lap. Three dimensions
Of tiger stare into my eyes, flesh-lean, weighing me up.
It’s good to have her here, in my sitting room. I’d like to feed her
Wine, see what she has to teach me, hold her tight, kiss her toes.


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