3 Weeks On Green Street, Cambridge

‘Shitting Christ’
fedora man yelled.
That machine had taken his card,
in his voice, tears welled.

‘Invite them over’
gold sole girl said
over loud phone call,
middle of the street,
her behind, me ahead.

‘Bit more to cuddle,
that’s what I always tell him’.
Supermarket aisle is no place
to talk of bedroom hugs
and a person’s pleasure,
not now, and not ever.

Conversations are quiet where I’m from.
People and couples talk slowly, in hum-drum
rumbles of lengthened, lengthy, lifelong songs.