Been there before where that look lands.

About A bizarre case of writer's block precludes a decent review of Almodovar's Volver tonight, so I thought I'd treat you to the following which I'd completely forgotten about until three days ago when it was found at the back of a drawer. Time was once that I would write poetry and I somehow manage to hammer out a bit of verse about once a year.

About nine years ago, age of twenty-one, I was on holiday at a caravan site in Wales and wierdly there was a day trip to Ireland, including the peaceful village of Avoka (site of the filming of BBC's Ballykissangel) and Dublin were we got to spend two hours at the end of the day shopping whilst during closing time. We visited one of those Irish pubs that largely do tourist business and this led me to writing the following. It's true in the way that Mel Brooks often says his stories are.

That Way

One final drink before I go,
A stout I order - out it flows,
I turned around - and there you were
Your long black hair and that stare.

The barman smiles, he understands,
Been there before where that look lands.
I, however, feel like crying -
I've not long left, you think I'm buying.

I take a gulp, I cannot look,
The signs are there, but I want to duck
Away, behind the bar somewhere,
I shut my eyes, to block your dare.

I drink again, I feel you close,
A drenching perfumed overdose,
Your lace is warm against my shoulder,
I'll remember that when I get older.

'Hello', you say, in Irish whisper,
Your cigarette lit with a Vesta.
For a fragile second, you're like a singer
Unreal thought, but I let it linger.

You don't reply, and keep on smiling
As you press on, walking past.
My head turns with you, I start frowning
I'm filled with envy - I've faded fast.

Of course he's everything I'm not,
His long blonde hair and such a fop.
No good for you, I've little doubt,
But that's what love is all about.

He cups your ear and whispers lightly,
You cock your head smiling brightly.
You kiss him hard, so passionate,
It isn't me, but that's your fate.

You don't turn back, no more looks,
Reach to my pocket for a book.
Offers more hope than reality.
If dreams came true, were would we be?

Chock full of mixed messages. Is the line 'Been there before were that look lands' implying that this apparition has slept with everyone in the pub including the barman or that he's been sleeping with her boyfriend? I like that the rhythm and rhyming couplets are distrupted when 'I' realise that she's not interested in me after all. But the final (hey what the hell) stanza doesn't really work.

Next week, it you're particularly unlucky I'll treat you to my schoolboy attempt at iambic pentameter ...