frail, we (for Mum)

You were the littlest bird
i'd ever seen;
feathers falling
under the open
window.
i touched your head
with my finger.
your
eyes looked down.
you'll not flit
around our garden again.
nest's empty,
alone, again.

You Were My Girl

We were the lost ones,
the pretty few,

lining boots with finest fur,
diamante dripping from our veins

till our faces turned milky blue.

I saw you the first time
down O'Brien's alley

amid Coke cans and litter,
the sounds of Frankie Valli.

You stumbled from his car,
hitched up your mini-skirt

against the bakery wall
as he flipped his cigar.

I shrank back into my doorway
like Orson Welles,

only I was wrapped
in sheepskin and gold;

hair like seaweed,
fish scales beneath my nails,

sipping on nicotine.

You swung round,
big-eyed as a rag doll
or a puma;

your coat clung to you
like it was your only full-time lover

as you mouthed a curse
at me, raised a finger.

I wanted you
there and then,

as you disappeared into clouds of rain

at the back of 54th street,
behind cheap car fenders.