Torís off to The Night of the Sensesí annual ball to
collect her award.
buy a sailorís hat, a corset, seamed white fishnets
from a market stall in Elephant.
read that Columbians write messages of love on money.
Gordis, my love has no price, Memo.
The central bank
has launched a TV campaign to wean them off the habit.
Seems that everyone at lunch is pregnant again. I paint
life in lurid detail. Let them sip lemonade
and see what theyíre missing.
Siobhan talks about taking off . At Brechon Bouton,
El Rincon, itís Peru or Chile. I know what Iím brave
and its not that but I can eat steak so rare itís blue.
Iran, tampering with bank notes is a crime. Students wrote
ďDeath to DictatorĒ on hundred Rial notes, defaced
the Shah with spectacles and moles
which reminds me of Lenny, driving his cab in LA.
left Tehran in a car boot, hasnít seen his family in fifteen
Chicago gave him asthma but Venice Beach was A-OK.
write his story in my notebook, which these days
what I do. A photo arrives in the post of my dad
a roof in Notting Hill. Heís holding a baby
who isnít me. At sixteen he left Jamaica, played poker
for his passage, worked the beetroot farms in Texas,
past through Manor Park, E14. Some people never stop
Tor gets in at 6. Iíve been up all night too. Thereís a
her shoulder, cupid pulling on his bow. On her bicep,
dollar sign. I lick my thumb and rub it. She laughs when it