He graced the pub just long enough
to park his wreck outside,
to bathe in light
the four new headlights, race
strip, extras, rust;
to bare to pity all his anxious
pride.
He graced the pub just long enough
to flaunt his girl,
shy-teetering in high white boots,
to curl his eye down skin-tight
jeans, bird-legged,
to feel her hair, dragged up into
amazing colour,
whisper at his too-smooth cheek.
He graced the pub just long enough
to ape the man,
to order rounds (the money dad’s:
‘Lend us a few quid; I’ll pay you
back, honest’)
to dazzle friends,
to say, expansive, ‘Hi! How’s life?’
to scoff, ‘That heap your bike?’
He graced the pub just long enough
to keep his mother restless in her
bed,
eyeing the clock, measuring the
silence;
waiting for that face - young and
tight with secrets -
smiling ‘Sorry, mum; I’m late!’
and gone
before the questions even form...
He graced the pub just long enough
to drink too much, too young.
He graced the pub just long enough
when driving home to take the bend
too fast,
to flood the rainbowed hair with
blood.
(November,
1988)
