‘In a doorway, I swear.
There were these two –
I was late cycling home
a gorgeous night
midsummer and people
out partying still.
I freewheeled past this shop
they were necking there
but she had her breasts out
one hand on his fly.
The bike sailed breezily on –
I did a sort of
drawn-out double-take,
turned back up the hill
and there she was
on her knees now
blowing his horn.
Imagine
how I felt:
like some Sicilian peasant
hailed one day
by an angel on the dung-heap –
or this girl walking ahead
in a blue scarf
turns to accost him, he stares
and it’s the Virgin.
They’re funny, Catholics: so
literal sometimes
about the things of the spirit,
even fleshly.’