Wednesday night
following choir two hours till the bus.
'Raiders on,' I said 'let's go, Rosie, go go!'
We galumphed to George (Street)
plonked down row five - no popcorn, tickets left us fully
short.
Fifth? Why there - the cinema housed ghosts 'cept for twinned heads
(swapping spit in back - gross)
See, I needed my eyes to peripherally imbibe
the spec-techy colour adventure.
Then Rosie
nudged me hard (it hurt)
'It's Brett!' she gulped
I didn't believe couldn't (at first)
there you lounged mouth agape eyes kaleidoscope.
Drug-addled, I thought,
I'd perused your baboon portrait
and I wrinkled my sniff-missy conk.
Still your glamour entranced
streamed water-danced the leaves of a Narnian willow
as I watched with one eye
light dehumanise
your mad Willy Wonka hair (Gene Wilder)
the lone transfixed thought
forever Escher-caught* (Stairwell)
repeated a knell
tolled out
regaled: Aslan. Aslan. Aslan.
YOU ARE READING
Looking Glass Friend
PoetryTo all my dear friends. Those I loved but did not know, I did so. Those I let go because... well... I could no longer face your understanding. Those who let me go because... I could not help them. How could I? I could not help myself. You are still...
