MY TELENOVELA LOVER   Leave a comment

I met her in a cocktail bar

Every strand of her ink black hair

Lacquered into a perfect ponytail.

Lips as red as a matador’s traje.

Eyes as brown as Mallorcan leather.

She ordered a gin and slim

And began her extravagant history

Of dances with the devil

Fiestas in candlelit pueblecitos

Lovers lost and won in the Valencian sun.

Every now and then

She would stare into the mid-November middle distance

I never did work out

Whether this was for dramatic effect

Or an overall inability to concentrate.

She dressed in trouser suits

From Spainsh department stores

Pearls in her ears

A cross around her neck

And a a more expensive than necessary handbag.

She never seemed comfortable

Going out for a quiet meal

Didn’t enjoy Orange Wednesdays

Or walking in the frost of a winter’s morning.

They were not really her scene.

However, when given the opportunity

To emote, bicker, strut, fuck or fight,

She grabbed the bull with both horns.

Which turned out to be problematic

On the trip out to Tam O’Shanter.

I loved her

But it was never enough

If I wasn’t rescuing her from towering infernos

Professing my love on a Superlambbanana

It just wouldn’t do.

We broke up in hospital.

She wailed at my bedside

Slipping my heart into her back pocket.

I lay there prostrate,

An olive stone lodged in my throat.

I went into a period of mourning

Stopping just short of the black lace veil

This was my cancion desesparada

Made all the worse

By seeing here every Friday.

Staring into the distance,

Soft musak,

Warm lights,

Beautifully teared eyes;

A weekly performance informed by jamón.


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