Doyle in a green dress leaned 
In a hetero-inclusive manner  
Against a far wall,  
Perhaps not far enough, as  
She was distracted —  
Her distraction bringing pressure  
To my 4 fingers, right hand  
Fidgeting with her necklace  
Which at that moment I coveted more than — sing it,babe  
.. are you trying to interfere ..  
& she was staring in the mirror — looking  
Not at me but past me, into a space  
— a slot of a zone  
That might be filled by someone nice,  
A successful televangelist no doubt  
Yet to arrive there, on an invisible journey...  
(journey, my roughshod term for predation & warfare  
Which could lead directly to calmer views in the mirror..)  
This was years ago, according to Doyle.  
 
& seeing you now in a green dress stare past me — 
An instrument of obscurantism, shifting  
Into a place I could only imagine  
Grabbing a microphone as you fled, alluvial  
— each second there’s a pang  
Bursting eardrums.. the yakking    
As if you & I were stepping out    
— eternal blasts of facsimiles in song   
From a mirror where spotify still    
Rocks into an arid white room; breathless & eager   
We show up for another whisky   
Only to discover this late   
Hey, I can do this!