i wish you a kinder sea

Act 1. The Hotel Lobby

Cartoon tears roll into your tequila. “PLOP!” The Barman: “Why the long face?” A pause. No punchline. Just a slumped fool - crown knocked sideways on a badly shaven egg. I skootch over a coupla seats. “Honka” the bar stool says. You raise a painted brow.

Act 2. Hotel room #1304

You’re undressing me. Pantaloons flung carelessly over the open door, and you’re blowing raspberries onto my upturned pelvis, greasepaint smeared all over my inner thigh. I squeal in delight. A pantomime pause as you fumble for contraception, searching case within case within case. I lean over and open the minibar. A can of peanuts explodes.

Act 3. The Morning After

Side by side on a satin headboard. My hair unpinned and matted with custard foam. You tap my arm, intimate the loss of one bulbous red nose. I fold my legs and hiccup it into your gloved hand. Presto! A glimmer of smile. I stand to shower, trailing a fallen curtain around my breasts. Your eyes accept. All happiness fades

But I’m back on my knees and whispering:

     Let me mother you,      I will sit backstage and powder      dusty creases into your rumpled face.      Night after night, I will play      your accordion, pipe comedy      sound effects over your loop      of grief,      balance my delicate      ballet flats over      your oversized      pancake      feet      and dance

     One day you’ll even speak to me.      One day we’ll look back on this moment                                                and laugh.

Queensland Pearls