I meet Nima
on the Embankment
behind Charing Cross
underground station.
She's waiting for me
with hands in the pockets
of her coat,
collar turned up,
looking down
into the Thames.
I cross over the road
towards her,
her back is facing me,
slim figure,
hair tied back
in a ponytail.
Been waiting long?
I say.
She turns and her eyes
are tired and drained.
Not long;
been looking
at the water,
she says.
She kisses me,
puts her arms
around my waist.
What's in the bag?
She asks.
I bought a LP
at Dobell's Jazz Shop.
She takes the bag
and looks inside.
Might have guessed
it would be jazz.
She hands me
back the bag.
How are things
at the hospital?
She shrugs
her shoulders.
Difficult;
the ******** want me
to do this and that;
had a job
to get out today,
she says.
Let's go get a drink
and chat,
I suggest.
She nods and we
walk up towards
Charing Cross Road.
So how did you
get out after all?
I sneaked out,
she says,
got some clothes
and here I am.
Whose clothes?
Don't know;
underwear are mine,
the rest I borrowed,
she says.
Won't they be looking
for you at the hospital?
I ask.
Who cares.
We take a coffee
in a cafe off
Charing Cross Road
and sit down.
You're a drug addict,
they're bound to be
looking for you,
I say.
I wanted to see you;
needed to get out
of that hell hole
and the **** nurse
and quacks,
she says.
I give her a cigarette
and take one myself
and light up.
Don't you want
to see me?
She says.
Sure I do,
but I'm worried about you.
Don't worry.
I do.
She inhales
and looks at me.
I want *** and a fix,
she says,
I know where
I could a fix,
but I want ***
with you, Benny,
not just anyone.
I look around
at the those nearby
in the cafe
who heard her.
She closes her eyes.
I know,
no place available,
some nights
I’m that desperate
I fancy the night nurse.
I raise my eyebrows.
I don't,
just saying,
she says,
her closed eyes still,
unmoving.
I recall the quickie
at the hospital that time.
I look at her
sitting there,
eyes closed,
cigarette smoke
rising in the air.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
I meet Nima
on the Embankment
behind Charing Cross
underground station.
She's waiting for me
with hands in the pockets
of her coat,
collar turned up,
looking down
into the Thames.
I cross over the road
towards her,
her back is facing me,
slim figure,
hair tied back
in a ponytail.
Been waiting long?
I say.
She turns and her eyes
are tired and drained.
Not long;
been looking
at the water,
she says.
She kisses me,
puts her arms
around my waist.
What's in the bag?
She asks.
I bought a LP
at Dobell's Jazz Shop.
She takes the bag
and looks inside.
Might have guessed
it would be jazz.
She hands me
back the bag.
How are things
at the hospital?
She shrugs
her shoulders.
Difficult;
the ******** want me
to do this and that;
had a job
to get out today,
she says.
Let's go get a drink
and chat,
I suggest.
She nods and we
walk up towards
Charing Cross Road.
So how did you
get out after all?
I sneaked out,
she says,
got some clothes
and here I am.
Whose clothes?
Don't know;
underwear are mine,
the rest I borrowed,
she says.
Won't they be looking
for you at the hospital?
I ask.
Who cares.
We take a coffee
in a cafe off
Charing Cross Road
and sit down.
You're a drug addict,
they're bound to be
looking for you,
I say.
I wanted to see you;
needed to get out
of that hell hole
and the **** nurse
and quacks,
she says.
I give her a cigarette
and take one myself
and light up.
Don't you want
to see me?
She says.
Sure I do,
but I'm worried about you.
Don't worry.
I do.
She inhales
and looks at me.
I want *** and a fix,
she says,
I know where
I could a fix,
but I want ***
with you, Benny,
not just anyone.
I look around
at the those nearby
in the cafe
who heard her.
She closes her eyes.
I know,
no place available,
some nights
I’m that desperate
I fancy the night nurse.
I raise my eyebrows.
I don't,
just saying,
she says,
her closed eyes still,
unmoving.
I recall the quickie
at the hospital that time.
I look at her
sitting there,
eyes closed,
cigarette smoke
rising in the air.
A BOY AND GIRL IN LONDON IN 1967.
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