BE MY JENNIFER JONES
In a dark light, I have run all this
course before. I know the turns
and angles, each being what they
may. The man with the corkscrew
haircut is busy lighting a match, or
trying, in the wind. What goes out
is that which will not go on. One
blatant fissure, a crack between
two halves of an overrun life.
Near to him, I watch the girl in
a shoulder-coat; she smiles, turns,
and seems to bless the air with her
presence. An angry cab-driver is
yelling back: 'no smoke in here; no
smoke in here!'. The guy throws it
all on the ground and they enter the
squalling cab. Drive away, oh please,
drive away, or be my Jennifer Jones.
No comments:
Post a Comment