Hoyle in her 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 Hoyle.

& seeing you now in your 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, we can do this!