Monkey Business<\/p>\n
We don’t. Put it in a vow,
\nput it in the diary, I’ll meet you
\nas arranged. Take your pick
\nfrom the usual places: the red caf\u00e9
\nnear the railway arches, the motorway
\nwhere the yellow sodium flares.
\nYou’re right to wonder if they deserve us.
\nYou’re right that sadness capsizes things:
\nthe way you replay ten, twenty years
\nand how you might have spent them.
\nBut as with backstroke swimmers
\nwho collide head on, tell me
\nis anyone really to blame? Personally,
\nI imagine it as a screwball comedy:
\nrunning frantically between taxis, losing
\nhats off the back of toll ferries, trailing
\npapers and angry bosses in our wake.
\nYou play the blonde, I’m the hack writer.
\nSomeone hide the monkey,
\nhere comes the professor. Easy
\nto get caught up in the reckless energy:
\nthe endless disguises, hotel check-ins,
\nfraught meetings in the back of car parks
\nmaybe a run in with the police. And don’t start
\nwith the others in all of this: how he
\nis gets toyed with by a cult refugee
\nand she seems drown in her family.
\nPerhaps they should meet.
\nSomeone hide the professor
\nhere comes the monkey.
\nYou know how these films go:
\nthey end with a marriage. So where
\ndoes that leave us? Rewinding it all back,
\nI think we spoiled the beginning.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Chai<\/p>\n
She talks about her days abroad:
\nKyoto, and her journeys
\nout to ancient shrines, gingkos
\nunravelling over river water,
\na spoiled affair with a painter
\nand a student she slept with
\non the rebound, his dainty manners
\nand pudding bowl haircut.
\nLife catches at her in these moments
\nthe flush of wine at her throat
\nthe hangover of choices. Tonight
\nshe talks about Mumbai. A later time,
\nbut one when wide life
\nstill offered itself with potential.
\nHow, on her first day she had left
\nher boyfriend slumbering in their hotel,
\nand walked out into the streets
\nto be amongst the sellers of rice
\nand tamarind, the green ice cream
\noffered by the cup. A local man
\nhad spied her, dazed as she was,
\nby jet lag and the experience,
\nand he had promised her chai,
\nthe best she would ever taste.
\nShe had allowed herself to be led
\nthrough back streets and alleys,
\nputting her faith in the adventure
\nin a way she now finds inconceivable.
\nThe chai wallah had set up
\nbeside an outdoor latrine, a line
\nof men staring over as they pissed.
\nThe tea had brewed in a metal pot
\nfor what might have been forever,
\nthe steam of cardamon and cinnamon,
\nmingling with urine’s ammonia,
\nthe even redness of it like river silt,
\nthe dust beneath her feet.
\nLater, in an alley by Soho Square
\nshe will turn and pull me
\nback towards her, kiss me,
\nand whisper promises of deeds
\nwhich so far are forbidden
\nand within the public expression
\nof these needs, I will think
\nof her walk from the strange hotel
\nthe men at the latrine, the chai
\nwhich was the best she had ever tasted,
\nthe boyfriend, even now, who sleeps.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Monkey Business We don’t. Put it in a vow, put it in the diary, I’ll meet you as arranged. Take your pick from the usual places: the red caf\u00e9 near the railway arches, the motorway where the yellow sodium flares. You’re right to wonder if they deserve us. You’re right that sadness capsizes things: the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":136,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[327,328],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n