By Sophie Bowles


Because I

only have friends who

do madnesses unto themselves and never go out on

Saturday night,

only out to the offy, bed & back to hide behind the pillow with the strops and

socks while everyone else laughs and dances away, or robbing the bookies,

I watch

the scenes alone,laughter, and smoke and stilettos

looking for meaning in men and picking my mind

off the floor with the fag ends, striking a match in a strangers eyes but the lights

have died in all of them, I need that one with the black clouds, not mr  happy with his hair preened back roaring his head off, the one who could

hold the leash back and teach me.

I still look for his face in the large crowds

Looking for love in the next one.

I see him dancing away,

come out for a fag could you handle me and everything I have done,

deal with my father, waiting at the door with the silent questions…could you be that

who’d rise up to him and take me out of myself, don’t just pacify, but grab my waist

and smash the life out of the man who ever tried,

I’m spinning… How quickly the night wants to rain down

on my head, in a trail and the girl with the square head and bloodshot eyes puking it out,

looks at me dead,

mind your own, never taking her eyes off the strangers who eye up the orange mess on the streets

I need that arm around my waist of the girl with big tits and glittering lips, tossing at the traffic lights,

oblivious to banging her head on the wall begging for change in the steamed up window,

and crying it out in the city after dark.

I can grip it if I wanted to,

Be that woman who the music and lights long for

Who laughs over glasses and conversation and men in shirts showing lust and affection

And up is the cloud of the future, me, great beautiful bum one day in silver heels, folded into the city’s

dazzling arms by the men pouring shots at the bar, away fom the chips and the

longing for change, I’d be that one who London loves, not spinning.

Loved by London after dark.