14 Sep 2009
To the blonde on the Jubilee line escalator at 8.45 a.m
whose heart was kidnapped by the ghost of an aesthetic
who tied her limbs in a knot and stayed like that for 46 years.
You dropped your handbag. I left it in Lost Property
on platform 5 next to the gents.
Monday morning on the Strand. You were hypnotized by Jay-Z
and half wondering if the movement of celestial bodies
might impact your libidinal designs. I was hiding down a manhole
outside the Zambian Embassy. I can’t stop thinking about you.
To the girl who paraded her glorious legs on the A2 fly over
at Lewisham roundabout on the 6th June 2007. I strangled 15 horses
in your honor. After six months probation, community service
and marriage guidance, I have now settled in Basingstoke
where I run evening classes in taxidermy. Please wear trousers
from now on.
To the woman who tried not to cry on the Eastbound Central Line
train yesterday afternoon between Chancery Lane and Bank.
Last night I dreamed you were pirouetting across the mouth of a volcano,
naked except for Aramaic graffiti and a pair of armbands.
What do you think it means?
At 4am on the Albert Bridge you screamed at a man in a fishnet vest
that you could only go south. The man tried to make you go north
on the 319 bus so you set fire to his hair with your Dunlop lighter.