At the end of the exam
period
I took drinks in the Marquis
of Granby
a yellow-fronted dive on the
fork of two roads
one an ancient Celtic
trackway
the other a freeway into
the Kentish townships, the
Roundhill
all nicotine stained air con
assembly
and chain smoked fags
cheap export strength lagers
Irish crisps
was fucked within the hour
cracked with a boy-faced lad
pint-sized, he was
little more than five feet
I was getting feverish with
flu and relief
and we drank with the
intensity
of two slight acquaintances
comfortable with the surety
of never meeting again
and some couple of hours in
joined by a short haired
girl I’d seen in lectures,
seminars
never heard
huge white teeth
simultaneously
in and out of proportion
strong thighs swathed in
bright blue denim
her sublimely awkward
flirtations
were polite if somewhat
end-of-days and
with little persuasion I was
back
to her small flat, her big
bed
fucking her clumsily
like an avalanche slipping
and she was quite still
the whole exchange formal
more like an organic
demonstration of
the way bodies can couple
than the tumult of lust one
hopes for
these things
a pleasant way to pass the
hour
before I took the train to
meet my girlfriend
for what would prove to be convalescence
and sodomy.
No comments:
Post a Comment