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This poem was written in Norwich, UK, because I was in love with an English Rose.


Renault Clio

You and I walked arm in arm through 
Yawning streets—warm evening light 
Reflected off sale signs and dowsed us both. 
Light like the heater I kept turning off and 
You kept switching on. I pulled at your arm 
Interlocked with mine.

You moved in that loose-limbed way 
Like unformed bones.

What is this thing the English 
Have for tea? 
The teapot steeping, the thimble 
Cups staining like teeth. From all this tea,

From all this coffee, from all these cigarettes, 
There's no wonder why teeth here remind me 
Of little gold pips.

©1994 Chris Abraham

Mar 08, 1994 12:00 AM