mopping up the butcher's floor

"there's nothing wrong with loving something you can't hold in your hand."

-----------

one day we'll smile at each other over coffee

like we did the first time

like we did when our friend pointedly left the room

and eavesdropped 

later i crawled into bed beside her 

just glowing.

writing that now made me think of the radium girls

who painted numbers on clocks with radium

holding the brush precisely between their lips. 

they ingested so much of the chemical 

they became anaemic, their bodies rotted

and eventually, dripping with the poison,

they would die.

i heard that one girl

woke up in the middle of the night

and the only light in the room

was the glow from inside her body

the radium infestation in her bones

gently pulsing in the dark. 

well, that all sounds spooky and romantic 

but that poor woman died a hideous death

and you and i, lucky things, get to keep on living.

one day i'll attribute this writing to some wayward hormone

or the fact i was turned down for dinner by a friend

or that my jobs are making me crazy

or my songs aren't being played on the radio

or some combination of the above, 

plus missing you. missing your calls

more so when no one else is calling

but even when i'm laughing

and i wish we'd shared it

well, anyway

what i meant to say

was that one day a coffee will be a pleasure

and we'll walk away feeling sweet and pink

that will be nice, i think 

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"...every road is lined with animals
that rise from their blood and walk.
well the moon won't get a wink of sleep
if i stay all night and talk
if i stay all night and talk."