Easy

Easy

He swaggers downstairs and stops
To see who might be looking, hesitates
And joins a group who loll against the wall;
Drags attention from a fag burn in the carpet
By dramatic adjusting of his shirt,
Then squats. "Got a fag?" he asks,
Grinning deliberately, willing them
One of them, to ask: "Where is she then?"
Only a slight exhalation indicates relief at being asked.
Slowly, he draws a breath,
Like the drumroll preceding the high wire act
And rolls his eyes.
"Upstairs y'know. Sortin' herself out."
And he smiles a lazy smile
And hooks his thumbs in belt loops,
Stage whispers, "First time y'know: hers, not mine of course."
And his audience lean back appreciatively.
"Where's that fag then? Gotta light?" Deep drag now.
"Well, yeah, bit of a slag, but a goer. Oh yeah! A real goer."
They are reeled in, staring and envious.
"Did you really?"
"Oh yeah, too right!"...
While upstairs,
Mascara tears
Rain black
Into the basin


from Poems with Attitude (Hodder, 2000), copyright © Andrew Fusek Peters and Polly Peters 2000, used by permission of the authors and the publisher

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