Night People
Some back to back, staring at bitten thumbs. Some passing blood, in agony columns.
Some cuddled up to God or Teddy. Some lost for someone ordinary.
Some in Alhambras of spouting wands. Some washing hot, inexhaustible hands.
Some handcuffed by loyalty, a key in the bible. Some with contagious certainties, tribal.
Some given peace, a conqueror's dreams. Some nothing, hung from beams.
Some stroking dirty covers, loins of books. Some sleepless on adulterous tenterhooks.
Some strident, bawling stark endearments. Some stealthy, scouting for honour in the Gents.
Some with the stuff on them, sniffing raids. Some sweatboxed, pleading syphilis, Aids.
Some raving at aliens, banging doors. Some kind, taking in young whores.
Present, correct, established faces. Nachtmusik. Textbook cases.
Geoffrey Holloway
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