Poem By Richard George

Four young men in summer term,
we measured days by alcoholic tides
and long liquid evenings
deepening to night.
Cooler, hipper, or so we thought,
we bestowed our tipsy accolades:
'Weird', 'Bizarre', 'Avant garde'.
God, we fancied ourselves.

And then there was Alison:
she sat with us by default (we
were a better class of rough trade) .
And we just stared in wonder -
with not a girlfriend between us -
at her fine, greyhound features:
'Do you like this music, Alison? '
'Would you like a drink, Alison? '
'Will you go out with me? '
All she ever said, it seemed, was 'No':
but now I close my eyes I
can feel, touch almost
her stillness, silence;
a richer currency.

Comments about Alison

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

3,7 out of 5
2 total ratings

Other poems of GEORGE

Eclipse: A Haiku Sequence

at first, sunlight changing; then
dusky, or faded,

A Walking Sadness

The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,

Halcyon And After

It was May or June, I met you:

Business, something or other.

Sylvia Plath's Cats

Their breath was clean, or harsh and sour
according to her moods:
and when they sensed a coming storm
they crept into corners.

Marie Celeste

Now I may never see you again
I can think of no one else:
I wait on platforms, hair in the wind
But trains all leave the past

7/7: Before And After

The dark young man
with the curls of the Maghreb
is in an altercation
with the ghost