i named myself coffeelover, as
a joke: young turk seeks young turkess
smart rhymes written, for undercover work.
first one reply, then five later,
an honest smile overpowers my sense
more emails sent: interested then?
why don’t we just meet?
it was easy to write, words tapped at home
far from real life where we’ll talk
with untexted words
so i sms a bar, and she texts
i know john snow, bad wall paper!
see you there at 6, ok?
i hoped at first, inside, for a no show
a date with a stranger in the john snow
and then the other voice in my mind
what if i don’t fancy her,
if making small talk, is more than i can bear?
i wonder how to make my exit, yes leave
when she peered from around the bar
smiling, and we sat down, nervous, and laughed
at how we’d just met, let’s just act as if
we chatted each other up, fair and square
on to a jazz cellar singing red-raw blues
and we were dancers, with our searching hands,
though too self-conscious to join in the high
last in a pub with wine foods
where we talk automatic writing
i say, we should auto-text each other
you are like my mirror she says
i text, i really like you: blush!
As if
water were
stone, we cycle
our eyes and ears
upon the towpath,
breathe harder,
and focus our way forward.
Our concentration
is swifting, but
as the canal moves along,
we notice—as
gently as if
cafe lattes were being
placed on pine-topped tables—
the changing scenes
on the canalside. We
do know, yes I think, this is the
Regent’s Canal, but
it is hard to know
what that means.
Image © Julian Lass 2011
