We lie there
on the grass
in the park
of St James

young Nima
and young me
both smoking
looking up
at the sky

you know what?
she utters
if I don't
get a fix
pretty soon
I'll dry out
be withered
like a nun's
******

you won't get
out of that
hospital
or get those
mind quacks off
of your case
if you get
more fixes
I tell her

I know that
my parents
tell me that
when they come
to visit
both doctors
of a kind

what about
having ***?
are you up
for a ****?
she says loud
disturbing
the wild ducks
near by us
and others
passing by

not right here
I tell her

of course not
some place else

what place else?

some hotel
some cheap joint
like we did
a month back

not today
getting late
you've to be
back in that
hospital
before long
I inform

she looks round
stares at me

can't go on
not like this
I'll go slit
my **** wrists
if I don't
get a fix
or a ****

she lies back
on the grass
cigarette
held aloft
like some young
movie star
in a role

I lie there
watching clouds
and birds fly
and thinking
of the ***
that we had
in that cheap
hotel room
on that bed
that made sounds
like migraine
in the head.