We sat in a pub in Brighton
near London behind a large
window overlooking the sea
you were hungry and demanded
fish and chips and a bottle
of cheap red wine to go along
Dean Martin was singing just
wonderfully, oh so marvellous
in the backround and I
had just written a poem on
a used paper napkin with a pencil
about some dog sniffing up corners
we payed the bill, got up from
our chairs, went downstairs and
started looking for a street vendor
selling that greasy fish and chips
in soaked paper bags with Ketchup
and Whip Cream dripping all over
we even found some red wine for
you and I bought a pint of Guinness
athough I can’t stand the taste of it
we then sat down on a huge rock
along the shore looking at birds,
clouds, ships and the bright orange sun
this is what I remember
this is what I have tattooed in my mind
but what I liked best was the bus
ride back into London, us very drunk,
sitting right behind the driver
watching the sunset thru the windshield
each of us wondering what our future
would be like, if we’d make it
together, and/or most likely apart
we arrived at the central bus station
in London and I thanked, thanked, very much
thanked the driver for this beautiful ride
he looked at me while I
got out of the bus,
then raised his hand, waved a little and
had not the slightest idea what
I was talking about.
you told me you’d have to
go to the casino and gamble
because in your horoscope
they had promised you good luck
you were in front of the mirror
putting on make-up
wearing a tight skirt standing there
coloring your eye-lashes
when I asked you what all of that
preparing had to do with good luck
nothing, you answered, and
that you only wanted to look good
for yourself, feel comfortable
and enjoy the big night out
you told me that the jackpot
was way over 20000$ that night
and that you would buy a pair of used
diamond earrings and an old BMW
I started praying
praying for the conferenciers
rolling the dice
for the dress-men standing
around Black-Jack-tables
for the fat old ladies sitting
on stools wasting quarters
on a dream we all dream once
in a while
praying for the waiters
behind the bar
for the security-officers guarding
the entrance doors
praying for the accountant
for the manager
for the owner, his wife
their children
for everybody involved in that
casino
it was your big night - out
of good luck and I
believed like never before
that you were going to win
every penny in that whole
damned place
but when you walked out of the door
without even glancing at me
I suddenly was quite sure that luck
was the cigarette dangling from my lips
and an indifference the world had
never witnessed before