extra hold
frescos
worlds
beauty
i remember her driving a red ferrari
i remember her nerves done translucent by the sun
i remember the tik tik sound made by her heels
i remember her cartier shades
not fat
not skinny
olive skin and hazel eyes
spoke slowly, softly
with a voice punctuated by red marlboros
she spent a great deal of time with me
taught me life within the confines of locked doors and closed curtains
but
she would go back
go back to her two sons and husband
he was just a decoration piece
this robotic creature with muted lust fixed before the tele
sons were nice
but they despised me
its as if they knew the expanse of their mothers lessons on me
i was never confronted by them
but i was the stench in their lives
the boy outside whose house their friends would see the red ferrari
i exposed them to lockerroom rant
turned their parents into strangers
but what did i do
i was just a good host
a good student
or maybe i was just the quintessential definition of the 'other'
i revelled in being the other
besides the occasional bout of conscience
i just kept on covering every window
window after window i covered
more sheets and more cigarettes
different colored cigarette butts
one day i came across her husband at the drugstore
he looked at me
i looked at him
he smiled
said i think you know me
weird
weird construct of a sentence
we were again behind curtains that night
she said her eighteen year old had asked her that who was i
had further said he knew everything
and that dad was weak
i listened
poured us some neat
but sometimes pleasure and routine defeat self proclaimed consciousness
sometimes what is right is spun by what is necessary
sometimes being together
being together against all odds is necessary
18 x 2 =36
mathematics even doesnt add up
i went up
carried on up the khyber
and unlike those timestained last pages of a novel beset by tragedy
her life also went on
silence and routine were a refuge
and
and
refuge doesnt always need to be correct