In 1972,
Nixon shook hands with Mao
and the world turned its back on Taiwan.

In 1972,
Ceylon changed its name to Sri Lanka,
Okinawa returned to Japan,
and Jane Fonda became Hanoi Jane.

In 1972,
twin Olympics were held,
hungry tigers on wooden skis dashing
down the white slopes of Sapporo,
while the streets of Munich ran red
with the blood of slain Israelis.

In 1972,
Elvis was still the king,
Elton wasn’t quite the queen
and Prince was still a quiet teen.

On September 21, 1972,
Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos
placed my grandmother’s homeland under martial law.
I was born that day
while my grandmother wept.

She liked to shower
before we went down
for breakfast in the five

star hotel, have her hair
just so, dress in her tight
clothes. I showered after,

wishing we could have
showered together, have
soaped each other over,

but we didn't, so I just
showered alone. Once
we in the hotel restaurant

she'd say: hey, look, it's so
and so( some famous person)
and she'd stare at them,

hoping they'd look over or
come talk to her, but they
never did, they either ignored

her or were unaware of her
staring. We ordered our
breakfasts when the waitress

came( some cute dame),
then waited, she gawking,
and I talking, or vice versa.

As she turned her head to
scan the restaurant, I studied
her profile, and drinking her

all in greedily for a while.

They'd been
to the art gallery.

Mostly modern stuff,
then went to a cafe
in the old city.

She lit up a cigarette
and so did he.

The waitress brought
the coffees
and slices of cake.

Abela said most of the art
was pretentious or crap.

He said some was quite good,
but nothing he'd buy
even if he had the money
for the over-priced works.

She mused on him
sitting there,
smoking and sipping
his coffee,
that way he had
of sprouting
Schopenhauer's philosophy,
or humming
Wagnerian themes.

He mused on her
sitting there,
that way she sat,
one leg over
the other,
the head slightly
to one side
as if questioning
his every word.

She mused
on the love making
in the night:
he thought it great:
she thought it
at best all right.

Abela stood talking
with the middle-aged couple
who were interested
in the watercolour
of a Sussex scene
upstairs in the shop.

Benny was downstairs
trying to sell the Van Gogh print
to the young woman
with the thin-wired glasses
and cute body.

The way he looked at her.
******* her with his eyes
if I know him.

Like he undressed me last night.
One piece of clothing at a time.

Yes, the Sussex Downs,
she said to the man.
The couple gazed
at the watercolour;
him taking it
and turning it
in different directions.

How Benny had opened me up
like a morning flower.
His kiss any place
he could reach.

We'll take it,
the man said.

She carried the painting
down the stairs,
the couple following behind.

Benny was all smiles.
The girl had gone
and so had the Van Gogh print.

She wrapped up the watercolour;
the man wrote out a cheque.

After they left Abela said:
you sold it then,
the Van Gogh.
Get her phone number?

He smiled.
No, she's not my type,
he said.

And what's your type?
She said.

You are,
he said.

She put the cheque in the till
and shut the drawer.

They walked to the back
and made coffee
and waited
for the next customer
to come in.

He mused on
the young woman's figure.

She on the coming
night's sin.

Abela kicked Benny's leg
under the table.

He’d been eyeing one
of the Serbian waitresses
passing by.

It is not good to me
you gawking at that waitress
makes me feel
surplus to requirements
she said.

Just looking
at the art form
he said.

What about
my art form?
She said.

Beautiful art form
he said
but one can have a Monet
but that doesn't stop
an art lover looking
at a Van Gogh.

so I'm a Monet?
She said.

More like Renoir I’d say
he said.

She pouted
I don't like you staring
at other girls while
you are with me
she said.

Ok
he said
I will be good
and look only at you.

She gazed at him
she put her head
to one side
as if measuring
up his words.

Am I the best girl
you have made love to?

Of course you are
he said.

Really?

Sure.

She looked away gazing
at the view of the sea
out of the hotel window.

Sophia was a wild one
he mused
that time
in her parent's bed
while they were out
and the bed going some
and Yiska that time
in the ECT room.

Why do men
look at other women
when they are with someone?
Abela asked
looking back at him.

Animal nature
kicking in
he said.

We have moved
past that stage
she said.

Didn't seem so last night
he said.

She smiled
well that was different.

Very different
he said
thinking of them
in the big double bed.

I drank too much wine
the evening before
trying to chat up
one of the Serbian
waitresses
in the restaurant
at the hotel.

The morning came
and I was out of salts.

Serves you right
Abela said
chatting up that girl
she only understands
enough English
to get the orders
and say thank you
and such.

Not so loud
I said
my head is fragile.

Abela was unsmiling
I'd slept on the sofa
while she slept
in the big bed.

I just couldn't face
being in bed with her
feeling as I did.

You missed
great ***
last night
she said
I could have made it
a twosome.

Sorry about that
I mumbled.

I'm going
on the tour
you can stay here
she said moodily.

Sure enjoy
I said.

Someone
was  drumming
inside my head.

She looked at me
then came and kissed
my forehead.

Hope you feel better
when I am back
she said
and looking at herself
in the dressing table mirror
went out the door
and closed it
with a click.

I lay there
on the sofa
feeling a big yuk
and sick.

Abela and I
took a boat trip
to the other island
this morning.

The sea was rough
and a few
of the people aboard
were puking
and the bogs were full
of *****.

We were ok and sat
and thought
of the concert
the other night
by the string quartet
or last night
after leaving the bar
we made a big thing
of getting ready for bed
and had *** games
before ***.

It was like the build up
to the star act
she taking off
most of her clothes
I watched
then I undressed
real slow.

Then she put
the radio on low
(some classical work)
and we began
the *** games.

After the build up
we kissed and got
into bed just as
Mahler's 5th began
on the radio
we made out.

The sea was rough
people puking
the sun a dull grey
the island in the distance
she beside me
on the rough
rolling sea.

That string quartet
last night in the City
Bartok and Debussy things.

Then the dinner
and then drinks
at the bar.

Benny eyeing
the waitresses
and I the waiter
especially that
tall dark eyed one.

I drank too much
got to our room
and undressed
and I lay there
wanting him
but I drifted off
into sleep.

He said he slept
on the small sofa.

I woke this morning
with a heavy head
and sour mouth.

Now we sit waiting
for breakfast.

My stomach doing
somersaults
my head unclear.

Benny looking
at the passing waitress
and her neat ****
or so it seems.

I dreamt
of that waiter
such are dreams.

The hotel restaurant
was not busy
a few came in
bleary eyed
and silent
like a breed of nuns
or monks
of a silent order
and took seats
at tables
far from each other.

Abela and I
came in
and took a table
by a window
and looked quickly
about the room
then at each other.

She picked up the menu
and stared at it
as if it was in
a different language.

I'll have a simple breakfast
she said
after last night.

I studied my menu
running my eyes over it
me too
I said.

We both put our
menus down
and waited for a waitress
or waiter to come to us
and take our orders.

Music was playing
in the background
foreign stuff
which you could neither
dance to to listen to
with any zest.

She looked tired
as she sat there
her hair quickly
brushed into place
a minimum amount
of make up applied.

She had on a yellow dress
with small flowers.

I gazed at her
thinking of her
the night before
after we came back
from the town
after the concert
where some pianist
had played Chopin
and Bartok pieces.

We had got
into our room
and she was swaying
(we'd gone to a bar
after the concert)
and she undressed
as fast as she could
almost falling over
a couple of times.

Come on
she said
get them off
I want you.

I had undressed
as quickly as I could
in a kind of race
with her.

She won
stood there naked
and swaying
as if she stood
on the deck of a ship
in rough seas.

She lay on the bed
and beckoned me over.

I took off
the last piece
of clothing
and set it neat
over a chair.

She had gone to sleep
lying there
naked and bare.

All I could do
was sigh and stare.