Eighties Film Clips


He shows me Eighties film clips and we collapse back
upon a springy bed of teased hair – being there was even better
he says, but I contest the party’s still going.
He waited for me in a bathtub of beer
for twenty-four years
while I was getting my act together
but I no longer need to dread mornings.
We’re enemies like all good lovers,
staring into each other’s eyes
in that queer silence before the birds start singing.
I worry about what lies on the other side
of his decaying venetian blinds
but he tells me, there’s time. With him I’m more alive
than all the moments I’m sternly cooking spinach
or studying some austere poet. He shows me how to laugh
at myself, myself a part of him, himself hilarious.
Magnetic enough to draw all the pretty girls towards him;
stubborn enough to put love in a headlock –
the kind you can’t find in a brothel and not for lack of looking.
Our pairing is so much worse than it looks
and it doesn’t look good but I’ve never laughed so much
so I’ll stick around while the Bollinger’s still flowing
backstage in eternity’s green room.