Eliot Halt

Her Birthday Walk

His eyes run up and down
From where her hair burns
To where her feet orbit and spin
So that her body turns
On the night of her birthday.
That noisy street she walks
Back straight, endorphins
Play and vodka talks
Like the piper piping his song of glee
And he like Hamelin’s last child follows.
Chemicals seem to make her
Shiver and shine tonight
He watches and wonders if she
Is the same or someone else.  Waits
For the eyes to leave the lights
And turn to him still mesmerised
And unfound in a night where
She only half belongs.
And when his hand glances
Over her arm she starts
Like something naughty
Touched her mind.  Makes
Her countenance suddenly divine.
Sweeps the wind and the clouds
And the sun in one in a smile
That is the same one that
Defies him in the woven darkness
Of other nights.
He unravels it.  Under the strobe
Lights are the bright lights and under the bright
Lights are the soft lights and under those
Are the stars
And her rough unpainted hand that confirms
His heart, which was uncertain whether
The walk was only the one that
Bursts and sings and invents
Over the dunes and down
By the river, which brings him back
To the steady beating heart
That lies on the spot of smooth arm
Under his question mark finger.



(c) 2006 University of Sheffield Department of English Literature :: designed by nagzaka :: maintained by Bunnyphobia