On Regent Street on Tuesday
We stop to wait.
For the lights to turn red.
To cross the road. And in front of
You there's a girl in a red and
Blue dress, an apparition of
Gypsy glamour and understated
Pretense. I see you looking at her...
Eyes grazing her skin, her auburn
Hair and at that moment she
Walks forward and becomes
Part of the bus. Red more than
Blue now, and her hair a mass of
Matted damp. And the screaming,
And I'm crying and as I turn to look at
Your face, you take my hand in
Yours and squeeze, and I'm ok, and
For a moment I'm glad it was her
And not me.
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