“I like your face.”
The stranger smiled
A friendly eye
In a hostile world
Not to be ignored
At the end of a week
Whose gentle slide
From bad to cess –
Until she could feel
Over the abyss
Clutching at nothing
More than the last
Frayed threads of temper.
Not minding this overture
To a careful discussion of
And closing with
Best wishes for
The weekend’s rest,
“Thank you” she said
And meant it.
Your face is a poem in the orange light
The frown creasing your features is a map
Dreadlocks form a waterfall of past thoughts
Kissing your cheeks like the memory
Of long lost loves and campfire songs
When your moonlit stumbles shone
An aphrodisiac for the would-be-hipster
Craving the coarse touch of a real man
Tonight finds you alone, a mere vision
Bobbing along in the cab of a van
To the comforting tones of The Wailers
Craven creatures, get thee hence!
For I crave naught, but common sense:
All I wish from life you see,
Is one who loves, is good to me.
But as I already have got
My faithful friend, I need you not.
And so to thee again I say
Bog off! I’ve had a trying day!