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.