another little piece of my heart

he’s seen it all before

I’m properly dressed for pre-dawn autumns:
brown fedora, tartan scarf,
hand-made brogues, tweed overcoat

she’s wearing silver lamé hot pants
bandeau boob tube, crotchless knickers,
“John, you ripped them, keep the tights - no extra”
her cheeks are streaked with run mascara

my name's not John

a sudden squall rips away my umbrella
it cartwheels prong-over-prong
across the sand towards open water

last night’s ‘fancy’ hugs herself against the cold
I hand her a cigarette, she takes it, lights it,
draws deep, and coughing, clears her throat
and walks away - she knows an all-night café

her dolphin-tattoo thighs are chapped
grapefruit dimpled, purple veined
that precious henna-streaked ‘Brazilian’
where I buried my head
afraid I might never breathe again
is now a sour memory

I don’t know her name
I shout after the parting hot pants,
‘thanks for... you know... do it again?’

she flings a broken sling-back away
and a single finger stabs the sky

I fill my lungs with seafront air and
cool smoke from a Marlboro Light

a parade of lovers,
girlfriends, one-night standers ,
assorted ‘encounters’
with insignificant others
passes before my eyes

each was awarded a piece of my heart
kept stored in my private memory vault
where untroubled by age, or ravaged by infirmity
they flourish, luscious, lissom, vibrant

and now? and now? and now it’s come to
the 'Naples of the North' - off-season Morecambe
a cut-price night with Emma? Amy? maybe Gemma?

empty promenade, empty wallet, empty heart

contemplating tottering hot pants
and a buckled umbrella embraced by waves.