Declaring nothing,
we’d cross customs,
dreads tucked
under our hats—
once inside
Spain or Paris, London
or some club, we’d let
loose & dance.
Give me the cheapest
thing they have,
says Davíd
so I bring him bitters
which even the bartender
declares undrinkable.
Davíd refuses
to say so, tries choking
down the pint
like pride. We never ate anyway
sitting down, Davíd always
looking for a cheaper
bite elsewhere, our stomachs
knotting & our hair. Eyes
mostly open,
Philippe & I drank & swam
through the dark waters
of Camdentown, high
on spliff & curry
our new friends cooked.
We black folks
invented all music
say our Australian-
Pakistani-British
friends. Everything then
shone in the blacklight—
our teeth
turnt violet.
We drank at the End
of the World,
pints three quid
& bitters far less—
would catch a taxi home
with those suicide
doors, watching the dawn
leak early above the low,
unopened buildings—
facing backwards
in the cab black
& shiny as a hearse, staring
at the wherever
we’d been, we slid
at every turn.