Issue 2: August 2003

Martyn Crucefix | Katy Evans-Bush | Alan Jenkins | Tim Turnbull | Julian Turner

KATY EVANS-BUSH

The Crash (a love letter)

When you get to the pub you're already drunk —
You've been down the old Globe or somewhere
Since lunchtime, and when you come in
You throw your phone down on the table
And start by picking a fight with Jan.
You're questioning my eye-witness account
Of a crash that happened outside the office —
A man just gunned his car at the railing,
Right into someone — and not by accident —
And subsequent riot (this very statement
I note the police believed outright,
And even wrote it down), while you breathe
All over me, and fondle my arm.
You drawl, I'm playing the devil's advocate.

As if he needs one. You go to the bar
And Jan says, I've never seen such rudeness!
She's laughing: what a dickhead, man!
And there was me, trying to soften the rumours.
You bring some drinks and then your phone
Starts to play the Ride of the Valkyries;
Next thing I know you're out on the pavement,
Pacing it flat, like a pent-up tiger
over the limit, for ten minutes.
I know you're talking to her. Finally
You come back in and start to try
To engage our attention but it's too late.
Jan says, I can't take any more of this shit!
And leaves with a single toss of the silk
Hydrangea she keeps in the back of her hair.
What's her problem? you say, five times,
Leaning on me, gripping my arm.

Next morning you wake me at 7.15
Beginning a half-hour fight on the phone
With the woman who uses her child as a pawn.
I've heard it before. I listen at first
From the top of the stairs, but then I get bored
And go back to bed. But I leave before 8.
Well, you get off the phone and ask me to go.
That's your greatest character trait,
You always say — you're straight as a die.
You kiss me — as always, perfunctory, dry —
So then I walk the two miles to work,
Which gives me plenty of time to think —
And you know, I wish things were different.
I'm fumbling for my keys in my bag
When I notice the bloodstains still on the pavement.

This poem was first published in The Rialto magazine.