Marie, I know you by your goth-black hair
And by the searchlight sun illumining
The knuckles of your back though your white shirt,
Slumped on a bench above the council grass
In East Street Park now that the rain has passed.
I go to help, but you are not alone
- Oh, no, not in the children's park Marie -
Your punter's mouth is open and his eye complicits me.
There was a fox, a fox beside the chemists
Standing among the weeds
Would not let go its meal, as I approached.
I turn from you, I scold you to myself,
I sympathise with angry neighbours,
Quick march up the hill road.
And at the highest corner you are there
Standing with hip ajut
As if you have been waiting there all day
Innocent of custom.
Is it you?
You must have run: faster than I could go
In your high heels, a way I do not know
To be here ahead of me.
Is it you, Marie?
The same black wig, the same glowing shirt
Are there two like you?
I try to see your features
But they are obscure
The sky is thick with dark
I can't understand your face
And the rain has started up again.