While it is still Wednesday I shall write something.
it's a beautiful night take me to your
beautiful house with all its
tapestries all its
secrets breezed-in and steamed-up
all its old gold things
it's a hot night we can
sleep uncovered and let its dreams in
let its nightdreams of
smoothblackhaired nameless men
Who is he, this Director? whose
business secrets I am in on, whose
politics I understand,
who invites me to the special, firstclass dining room
Wear your Bombay hat, he says, so I find it
and in a girly white hat and a long flowered not-me dress
I cross a room crowded with ordinary tables of ordinary people
they all know me
some of them maybe even care about me
and all are curious. Where y'going?
I'm having dinner with the Director, I flounce.
I get to the door, the Director
looks me in the eye, smiles, says,
in his semiliquid voice,
Let's go somewhere more intimate, I know a place
and suddenly I am seeing him differently
Yes, a political businessman,
an ally, a leader, an in-crowder in
pressed white shirt and charcoal jacket,
cleansmooth face, short cleansmooth dark hair
but also a potential friend with
kind eyes
and a breathstopping smile
and a hard body under all that
In this dream I can speak a little.
Yes, let's, I say.
His car is not a greenblack Mercedes
It's more my type of thing, a beatup red Holden Astra
He sees my look and says
it has sentimental value
It runs with an assertive dreamsmooth humroar
He knows how to keep a car running
I like that in a man
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A first draft by Janet Jackson
(Note: It is actually a cold night. And I have no idea who
the guy is - just somebody my subconscious invented
for my entertainment. Going to bed now, maybe he'll be back ;-)
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Janet Jackson <[log in to unmask]>
Poems at Proximity:
http://www.arach.net.au/~huxtable/janet/proximity.html
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