(photographer unknown)
do do run run
after the show she’d call him
wait with the security guys out back
in the open door way if it was storming
watching waiting smoking.
she’d heard they added menthol to ‘em so you wouldn’t feel what they were doin’ to your throat,
she wasn’t sure about that – isn’t there just too much miss-trust in the world?
anyway it never took him long,
no matter what the time was
even if the show ran late
even if there was snow
he was never long.
run up them iron stairs
and every time
kiss her before saying hello, how was the show?
and walk her arm ‘n arm to the car,
open and close her door …
she was back up singer in a steady small town gig.
the one who wore a black beret,
sang better ‘n most of the stars she broke her ass to make look good.
and maybe if she were younger…
and maybe if she weighed a little less…?
back home,
he’d always have something good and warm and ready to eat
and sometimes in the shower the hot water lasts an hour
and sometimes she’d have a little something strong to drink.
and he’d put something on the stereo real low like madam butterfly
and lay her down until falling asleep
only by some taunting dream
she’d wake
to find
his arms
around her.
http://issuu.com/amosgreig/docs/anu_issue_30
The International Women’s Day issue of A New Ulster
one of Northern Ireland’s online Journals featuring the works of Marion
Clarke, Helen Harrison, P D Lyons, Marie Lecrivain Judith Thurley and
Mari Maxwell and many more
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