The wind is soft to me tonight
John is in the garden and Marge is sitting on the balcony talking to Anthony and I’m walking through the kitchen trying to find you. Someone said you were in the bathroom but that was a while ago now. They’re starting the fireworks soon and before the air gets filled with firework smoke I want to show you the half-moon and how thick the fog is tonight. God is here and I almost heard him calling my name. You’re leaning across the counter grabbing a corkscrew telling me to pass you a bottle from the cupboard under the sink. A bus goes past on the other side of the house and for a moment I can hardly hear you- the front door is open: the garden doors are open: the windows are open: I'm getting on the bus: I'm going home: I pass you the bottle. Last time we drank I spilt the wine everywhere and you didn’t get angry- you laughed. Your face made this shape where your eyes creased and your cheeks filled into large circles and strong lines and watering eyes. You remember it too- you make a dig- I feel it in my chest where the wine seeped through my t-shirt and spilt over my white bra in little coughs. Marge has come in for a top-up: you put glass in my hands: someone calls us from outside: John has a flame and the air is burning. I forgot to tell you about the moon before the first splay of colour hits the dark above our heads- the moon is gone: the fog is gone: into a mist of strange lights and burnt air. I think I want to tell you I love you: with your arms around the waist of your glass: but I think I want to tell you I love you because this seems the kind of moment that love should occur: I would get on one knee and you would say no. We both hate marriage and you can’t hear me sighing into your shoulder over the crackling that shoots over our heads. Anthony watches us and smiles: you’re watching the lights and I’m watching the space where the moon ought to have been. I don’t know these people: I don’t know these people: I’m on a bus: I’m going home: I’m just sixteen: Anthony and Marge and John and You are faces I skirt around to find a seat: the view of the moon is clearer from the top deck.
