Confession – by Henry

This week our intrepid co-editor Nick Allen was reading at an event and a drunk old fella sitting at the back snored through the whole thing. At the end he roused himself, introduced himself to Nick as ‘Henry’ and handed over a crumpled bit of dirty paper with a hand-written poem on it.  Here it is (and by the way, don’t push it people, we have dedicated email accounts for a reason).

 

at the end of a half lit bar
at the end of a half lit day
and you found me
you said you needed to talk

I ordered another whisky a large one
and one for you and said OK let her rip

you told me of infidelity
and you told me again of infidelity
you told me of the thrill of stolen sex
of those unknown fingers brushing your flesh
and of your lips plump on unknown flesh
and you told me of overnight conferences
and you told me of anonymous towns
of walking hand in hand in the daylight in the park
and you told me of the blistering half-drunk hotel room sex
and of those all-night conversations that ran between
life the universe previously unfelt connections with another human
and you told me
and you told me about that I can’t believe I wont see you for ten days sex
and that once more in the morning before we go home sex
and that please don’t mark me sex
and you told me about the boredom

you told me about boredom
and you told me of mundane love
of taken for granted everyday mundane love
and you told me about your lover’s kids
and you told me and you told me
and you told about the discovery
how quickly your lover’s sweet words turned to dust
and you told me about the 2 am screaming phone calls from the partner of your lover
how they said you were a fool to believe they would ever leave their home

and you told me
and I bought another drink for each of us
and your telling continued
and the night grew darker
and the bar was finally closed
and your telling was told

and I went home alone
and stared into the icebox
and poured another large drink
to the silence

2 thoughts on “Confession – by Henry

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