Fantastic lover
We've never met and we won't
though we've spoken on the phone
a bit - well, a bit of business
(if that counts) and phones are dumb.
Our vast and scintillating characters
get stuffed down hi-tech fibre.
You never know who's listening
on spider thread, tenuous lifeline.
You can't hear a bloody thing.
And they won't come and fix it
unless you've got shares.
Ah well. I'm not about
to sew my heart on anyone's sleeve,
say "let's chuck everything -
meet me after work at Temple Meads" -
get drunk on cheap Bulgarian wine
(just to make sure) and wander back
to your flat where you'll make coffee:
splutter, gurgle, cough. I'll know
it's instant - but who the Hell cares?
And then we'll think about the risks.
There'll be a picture of your lover by the bed.
He gets switched off with the light.
In the morning we'll do it again
after I've been to the cashpoint
and - more awkward - Boots.
Then, then, yes, then,
we'll walk down by the river
and tell the truth for a change
till, after one more coffee,
I'll get back on the train
never to be seen..... perhaps.
But I'll phone. Tomorrow.
