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Star-srossed upon a bench


In the sodium twilight of hushing headlights
I saw two lovers make a parcel of themselves
On the bench by the corner of the school.

This is a message that they send to the world
Every Tuesday and Thursday, nights when
Two sets of parents make two amnesties

Not knowing the crime. I see them moulding
A Rodin pose as I pass in the semi-dark umber,
A state known to many burning Romeos

And arhythmic Juliets down the centuries.
The girl, ignorant perhaps of the fine bikini line
That twists its thread between her hips and his

The rubicon, once star-crossed, that can never
Be re-crossed. The boy is well aware of the inner
Lunge that skewers him to this bench and her

Some words of faint mysticism pass between their
Mouths, hers ruby red with the hue of promises,
His dry as tinder under the match of her skin

As I sweep past, and others like me, remembering
The long-past scratches of adolescence pressed
Like stubborn creases out of our memories

I see the flicker of a hand, the smile of a devil
The whisper in the ear, the deep eye make-up
The absence snapping like overtaut piano wire


© David Incoll 2001


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Copyright by David Incoll 2001