A howl-voiced harridan in a filthy house,
Brats and squalor underfoot,
What can you know of romance and the
Smooth course of courtly love?
There are silverfish in your bathroom, fan-tailed
They move amongst the grime.
(He might have loved me in another time.)
The fog makes things much too clear.
Here.
This day brings thunder to clap out my mind.
(He might have loved me, in another time.)
Another woman, in buttery suede,
Her dinner table expertly laid,
Might lean idly upon the glass,
A figurine.
Another woman might let him pass.
The gong is struck.
Sight must go.
Amongst the pots and the pans and the
Shortage of pants,
Beauty does not stand.
Amongst the shoes and the plastic containers
Amongst the recycling to be done,
The soap to be bought,
Where would she hide?
Down windswept, catty-corner alleyways
Dark –skied spring is all I find.
He might have loved me in another time

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