apology for tina

yes – she is the sort of woman

who’d be given bunches of flowers

on inglorious occasions –

from the way the droplets slide

I can see that her brown suede boots

which come to the crown of her shins

have been carefully water-proofed –

I can see the underwear

beneath her jeans as her arse lifts

and falls and it is small, probably

expensive and bow-tied –

                                            what a falsehood to live up to,

                                            when your genitals

                                            are wrapped up like presents – 

yes – the slipstream of Chanel perfume

that spirits me on is neither

too weak nor too strong to dislike –

and like a nineties anachronism

her pony-tail begins very high on the head,

held loosely by a huge blue scrunchie

identical to the one I’d play with

in the beautiful hair of Tina at crèche –

then I lose her for she is not

bound for the Melbourne Central station

but a lingerie store nearby –
given the memory occupying me

at the moment she walks in

nausea quickly supplants desire

and then heartbreak – she is ruined!

poor little Tina will never be the same!