Sat in a pub talking to a woman of no substance
other than the fact that she wore a skirt and had boobs.
Pub closed, I was allowed
to follow her home
through dreary streets
fine rain and yellow street light.
I kissed her dry, bloodless lips
Walking back to the seaman's hotel
she stood by a bombed out church and had damp hair.
This is too absurd
again it was a place I didn't want to be.
Money changed hands
and my loneliness laughed hysterically.