red booth

I spat out my gum like Julia Roberts
In Pretty Woman; murmured fuck
When the rain began.
You held the umbrella over me and said
That you liked it when I cursed, my voice
So small.

I drove half way to Chicago behind a car
With Texas plates. Rolled down the window
To taste the traffic, and French fries 
From the Polish diner on the corner
Of Lawrence Street.

Your beanie is pulled down over one ear
And you tell me it is too cold for flip
Flops, as I struggle into the front seat.
November catches in my throat, cigarette 
Smoke and hot chocolate.

I rode the Staten Island Ferry in March,
And took pictures with my disposable 
Camera. The clearest shot of the skyline,
And no one noticed when I got locked outside.
Everyone on their way home from work 
In the city.

You, beautiful in this heat say, “Fuck George
Bush.” I peel sweaty legs from vinyl seats,
The unemployment rate is up. I curl my toes
Behind the bend of your knee. Down the street
The convenience store is robbed.

The boy sitting inside the station as I wait
For the Underground, has been sleeping here
For a week. I got no answer when I called,
So I gave him what was in my pocket. Outside
London swells, dazzles, and dies.
 
 

- Annie England