Читать книгу How You Might Know Me - Sabrina Mahfouz - Страница 9

gather then lift their judgement cards

fake-tanned botoxed faces on the telly

telling sweating hesitants if they can last

until next week, if their feet worked sufficiently

hard to turn a scuffed rubber floor into fantasy

for two minutes of tango salsa waltz foxtrot,

women like sylvia lauding the costumes so glittery

whispering feathers for life’s prime slots.

sylvia has one hand around a warm wine glass

when scott pushes swelled knuckles sinkingly

into the settee, his beer can finished starts

to raise himself up bowing to sylvia’s beauty

asks may he have this dance hand out hopefully

she shakes her head I’m sixty two scott, not

some first date post-war teen or these sorts on tv

whispering feathers for life’s prime slots.

scott regards himself as a reverse human ballast

conducting maximum electricity to sylvia’s body

white wine always makes her weak she won’t last

until next week or to the end of her argumentatively

affectionate refusal, she dances drunk and clumsily

the living room needs painting, now bright apricot

seems a hopeful colour, she dances more gracefully

whispering feathers for life’s prime slots.

scott closes his marked eyes, spins sylvia dreamily

she trips on the rug corner, her falling arms knock

the lamp right over, broken, she knew she’d be

whispering feathers for life’s prime slots.