carrying the smell of you

© Predrag Pajdic, key, 2008

You give me a blue glass bottle
Encased in filigree silver
Throughout the journey I lose it out of my pocket
Each time it falls but it never breaks
Fragile, unbreakable, a part of you
Anoraked public thieves unashamed of their desire
Block my way on the pavement
Someone pulls from me books in a bag
A police man retrieves the blue bottle, naked,
Of its casement

You have also given me a picture it is framed
White background Miro colours
It is larger than myself
It is beautiful. It is too cumbersome
For me to hold it rests at the bottom of a spiral
Wooden staircase down which you and I jump

I have great strength
And agility but as you jump down the stairs
In the style of a long-jumper
You break though a wooden step
The wood cracks open as if in a cartoon
There you are wooden shards and splinters in your face
Sue them. You sort of agree but the girl at the checkout
Has long straight hair and a body of a gymnast she tells you
Your rail card is out of date you brush your face
I am afraid that you will have splinters
That your beauty will be pocked

I pick up the blue glass bottle we escape
Through a door at the bottom of the stairs
leading onto Clapham Common
The bit near the stations
You’re not put in gaol however your picture
Becomes superimposed on the receipt of a London tourist pass

The grey bars over your face are of the same filigree pattern
I have the bottle in my hand
And there’s just me with this blue glass

Thinking of putting it into the cabinet in the corner
Of your grandmother’s living room
Just for safekeeping

And you now here and we look at the glass bottle, again on the floor
Having dropped out of my pocket
We retrieve it from the flat pavements
pickpockets and thieves are at play
I shout for you
I try to fight
The blue glass bottle falling from my shallow pocket
I am sure it will break now
I see the filigree case again
The bottle is oddly shaped, off spherical
Beautiful deep glass blue
It fits into the palm of my hand
Carusel hourses’ eyes watch from the fairground
It must be Easter and we shine
In the reflection of their painted grimaces

Text: © Carrying The Smell of You by J. L. Nash 2009


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