For Simon (Because That Skirt Was Too Short To Climb Down That Ladder)

I had nylon-covered bent knees.

A ghost of a smile, like the breath that curled out

Our lips.

This is a poem for the little boy-man

With the nose just slightly too big for his

Face

And the warmest eyes I’ve seen in

A few weeks, at least.

I am full of some kind

Of movement

Like the wake of a boat

On the Thames.

I had nylon-covered bent knees.

And I let my hair cover my face,

And pointed my black-boot feet inward.

And was eight feet tall, walking in Chelsea or Battersea

Giving out neon flashes with my moon-eyes.

And I only had one gin and tonic.