A book lay open
on the table
by her bed
I looked

at the cover
blue
well worn
named Byron

a friend gave me it
Julie said
can't make head
or tails yet

the ward was quiet
blinds
were pulled up
sunlight came in

blue and white
over duller white
she in a flowery gown
pink flowers

small
on white cloth
tied at the waist
leg crossed over

the other
slippered feet
thin ankles
not read him

I said
died in Greece
she said
who?

I asked
Byron
she said
she pulled a cigarette

from an open packet
and lit up
I’ve read Shelley
I said

he drowned in Italy
I think
she inhaled
smoke rose

grey
white
lifting ceiling ward
thin fingers

held
fingers parted
slightly curved
as if sculptured

I sat
on her hospital bed
firm
blue blanket

white pillows
solid
Guy's in the slammer
she said

drug taking
and selling
I said nothing
looked at her lips

holding the cigarette
opened and closed
hair untidy
won't see him

in a while
the parents
will be glad
didn’t like him

have class of course
his parents that is
she said
I studied the cleavage

where the gown
lay open
small valley
darkness sinking

when I get out of here
she said
we must meet
in London again

I looked away
from her cleavage
outside
the sound

of hard
falling rain.