10,057. SHE LOVED ME LIKE CRACKERS

SHE LOVED ME 

LIKE CRACKERS

She said that. I hope she liked crackers,

because it didn't seem like much to me,

but why split hairs over such inconsequence?

We just went along our way. She said she

liked this, and then she liked that. She

enjoyed talking pictures, and just walking

along. All good material, for when I write

my song. 'Just,' she said, 'Just don't travel,

and come back to try to tell me about it  -  

I'd rather hear about the weather, anything,

than about the things you saw in Belgium

or France. Nothing worse than travel that

you yourself haven't done.' I said I agreed,

but had no plans. She again said she

loved me like crackers. 

-

'If we ever traveled together,' I asked,

'would you be excellent company?' Then

she started recounting some of her very

bad, journalistic, travels - 'Once by boat,

across a part of the sea, we all were flung

into nailed-down furniture by the roughness

of the sea, unless unnailed-down furniture

hurled itself onto us. And another time,

flying into old China, 35 years ago or more,

on a cheap Chinese airline, we were bouncing

in the air like a butterfly in a hurricane. The

distant landing strips were lit by flare pots.

One of the crew was sipping gin from a cup.

I used the toilet, on another flight. It was

behind a green curtain and gave a small,

circular view of the ground below. And 

once, in Africa, and dragged with sleep, 

and shivering, I saw the great African sky, 

which I had always been seeking - a riot

of stars, velvet black, felt as an arch, and

the seemed to glint with starshine.' And 

then, once more, again, she said 

she loved me like crackers.