Quelle: poetry p f
B Movie
You have to be blonde
or jet black, either way, sister
there’s a lot of dyeing.
You have to forget what you see,
remember aliases,
but don’t get smart.
You’ll get used to the eyes
of the rest of the mob,
they’ll go no further.
You’ll smoke at all hours:
first thing in your silk camisole,
4 am in your fox fur.
You spend days alone,
turning his diamonds in your palm,
arranging imaginary flights to Rio.
You spend nights waiting,
ready by the phone,
pistol out of the bedside drawer.
You know there’s a wife, Italian,
that he’s got children
and you won’t have any of your own.
You know you’ll live
in a series of apartments,
each less elaborate than the last
first published in Eyewear, 2008;
in pamphlet collection, Lunch at the Elephant & Castle,
2008, Templar Poetry, Matlock