The Blind

She wears a mini and glasses, she’s myopic. She has the key to your small, rented room. She rolls her r’s naturally and doesn’t hang around bus stops. She has money for taxis. She shines. She persecutes you with a smile. She’s relaxed and she says she loves you. She lies next to you on the sheet. She gets hold of tickets for the Athenaeum. She takes you out in the world when you get bored, then shows you off to everyone – an exhibit. She brings you a mug of tea when you work at the piano and empties the ashtray. She goes on tiptoe and turns the key in the lock, slowly. All of a sudden, she says she’s not coming to your place tonight. She used to be first in her class at school. She goes with you to hockey matches at the rink and screams louder: she’s cruel, violence excites her. She cries at movies and gets happy with tears: she throws her arms around your neck and gives you her hair to smell. She sits in the armchair and knits, looks at you in silence, listens to chords from Schumann, brings rare records, doesn’t believe […]