Sunday 17 July 2011

A Wee Poem: Social Intercourse

Social Intercourse

Her name is Susie.
'I'm from Manchester,' she says,
her top lip trembling;
she's hoping she can get away with it.

Her accent is pure
Moscow, or
Kiev, or

'Which part?' I say,
like the bastard I am.
The quivering stops -
she's up for the challenge.
'Near the trains,' she says.

I let it go, even though
no one else at the table
speaks English.

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