POSTCARD IN NEGATIVE
for Natalie, 22nd September 2008
I check the wall. So it’s been nineteen days
since you chauffeured me to the station.
A fortnight (more!) since, face-to-face,
we had our ‘goodbye’ conversation.
Now you read, two thousand miles away,
having contrived to spend a hot two weeks
on some blissful student holiday
conducted (as per norm) off-peak.
Most likely, you’ll not read this verse
till you’re back here in the cold and damp,
but I’ll try my best to beam the words
through the internet, and through a map –
to some lovely, sunlit terrace, where
some swarthy waiter leans, and asks
my friend if he can smooch on her.
(I wrote this bit to make you laugh!)
I hope it’s all the brochure claimed,
that your room looks out to sea,
at the cold grey mass of unborn rain
that connects you back to me.
From this chair in my new flat, I hear
(or think I do) the sea, sometimes.
Guess what? It’s better than last year’s!
The chair’s much softer, and reclines!
When you come back, I’ll ask you round
and we’ll laugh, I guess, and think
of what our teacher friends are doing now –
sat down with their own hot drinks
but far more stressed! And we’ll resume
our endless, hopeless, search for men
who’re handsome, and just right for you
(and girls for me) and then
we’ll dream about our perfect future life.
Give up, us two? Fat chance! Never!
You with husband, me with wife
all four sat drinking tea together,
reminiscing on these salad days
of dreams, of schemes, procrastination;
it’ll happen. A week today, we’ll have
this year’s first ‘hello’ conversation.
