Saturday, October 14, 2017

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.

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