Tiny Ballerina

Looking back at the theatre again, the ballerina

and all the left over coffee cups –

how a day melts into some night

how the seasoning changes the girl into the woman.

Sweet lady in the arms of a lover now, English maybe

At nine singing by the window-

of floating lights and dead highways,

dancing fingers and toes

a rime of murmuring passer by

By ten smoking in the silverware-

disgusting the lover’s performance

no love, no love in the sapphire jewellery

Around one in black stiletto, walks the house

behind with yet another moaning

and a body designed to shine.