Chain reaction
12
...as if I had never before been in this room, never detailed the sleight of my movements, never
paused to justify the space I fill, while the duty staff obey the syntax and move
ever closer to
the legal punctuation, though I am stalled in brackets, requesting a solicitor,
a need unknown
in my customary citizenship, and from a list supplied a name I've chosen,
drunk my tea
and observed the comportmental grammar of the uniformed police,
(in my temporary tense called "wait"),
until the suitable, the available, the legal representative arrives, initially to hear
the charges then
to meet in postered room, I recognise the coat at once, the bag clung at
the woman's side,
the hand which swings, without a knife, to shake my own, her face I don't remember, nor her
eyes, the voice is utter shock, I never dreamt to hear her speak, and so I listen,
smile, reply,
describe events which really should have sealed her fate, she noted them
and which
had been confirmed, and so by contradicting hit-and-run my urine story served
to set me free.
13
...there was no doubt, she was the same, and strangely, no discrepancy, she was
the killer and
my counsel, sychronised outside the law and only cleft in reconciling what I'd seen
the day before,
a simple flaw in understanding, a fault the coming days might rectify
as blandly as
a flat front door, like that I've found and stand before, the boundary of my customer, located on
the second floor, a simple job, the client said, his dish was damaged by the wind, insurance covers
reparation, printed on the duplicate, and I'm the one to put things right, no,
this is not
his place of work, a flat he rents since his divorce, his wife, the bitch, has kept
the house, solicitor,
you know the sort, they never miss a fucking trick, attractive though, he shows
her photo, still mocking
on the desk (neat as his tie), while looking for the office keys, not far from here,
it's her again, I'd swear
it's her, without the coat, the bag, the knife, but probably still lethal, met when
he still probationed
villains, met all sorts and got hands dirty now they're absolutely filthy, follow me, I'm parked outside.
14
...he points, that's mine, the bluish van, you see the dent, the broken headlamp, bastard stole it
in the high street, stopped for fags and left it running, only went a mile or two
but hit a woman,
nearly killed her, left it in the station car park, won't be long, a witness saw him,
knows the bugger,
told the coppers, out behind the shopping precinct, not the new ones,
in a side street,
just stick close, he winks and slams and starts the engine, leaning out to watch
my start-up,
flash my lights and off we go, though one thing’s certain, given the choice
I'd call the office,
say I couldn't find the address, send someone else, this roofs half-life will
not be mine,
I've seen too many ways the links can connect and I have no wish to testify
the final closing
of the hoops or how the hollows shut-up behind may hold our times in
lapping bonds,
I follow the hope of open bounds but at a certain likely curb he tightens off
alternatives,
alights to excuse the urgent stop, says "sorry" at my open window, turns
and hurriedly departs.
15
...my hasty halt is rearranged and then I wait, a minute, five, a further few,
survey the corridor
that led him off between the walls of neighboured shops and finally, refusing shallow resignation,
lock the door and follow through, unsure of my need to verify the nature
of my clients
actions ( it may only be to have a piss, but other factors could result in an unexpected
cancellation, release from future trepidations - should I stroll or hurry on,
blunder into
who-knows-what or gently make it plain I have to terminate my obligations,
jump the contract,
scoot off home ) and in the undecided meantime I have left the cheerless
brick-lined trench,
crossed a ghetto of dog faeces in the weedy fumble of back-houses, brushed through the begging
bushes, stalks blinded by the burly-boys, bent in retreat against a bank where
a stumbled fall of steps
submits the old town to the breaking new, the fragile coast of aging halts at
the plan and prosper
flood, precision shopping rising on a tide of commerce, and there below an
isolated ancient rock.
16
...a spared and rude suburban rock, with bungled garden, fenced against
a garage-dune,
clustered-shut on concrete beach, sparse but for two spars of wreck, their
creature fibres frailed
by sullen to and fro, marooned by habit's parting flow, discerned from where
I spy
on earthy crest, to be a dreadful pairing, now I know, I should have flown,
forsake this
re-found cankered client meddled with his disaffected wife, her coat replaced
by tailored rainwear,
her face the same from killer to counsel to desk-top photo, between them
words,
distressed by distance, their cunning gests curtailed by doubts, except his last,
a blatant thrust,
the weapon groped from jacket pocket as though a token brought to view, withdrawn in awful
recognition, the spouting wound below her jaw and three determined paths
of action,
she to slump and he to briskly leave the scene, myself I ran and drove, to offer crucial evidence,
describe the slashing I had seen, the officer confirmed my fear, a woman had confessed the crime.
...as if I had never before been in this room, never detailed the sleight of my movements, never
paused to justify the space I fill, while the duty staff obey the syntax and move
ever closer to
the legal punctuation, though I am stalled in brackets, requesting a solicitor,
a need unknown
in my customary citizenship, and from a list supplied a name I've chosen,
drunk my tea
and observed the comportmental grammar of the uniformed police,
(in my temporary tense called "wait"),
until the suitable, the available, the legal representative arrives, initially to hear
the charges then
to meet in postered room, I recognise the coat at once, the bag clung at
the woman's side,
the hand which swings, without a knife, to shake my own, her face I don't remember, nor her
eyes, the voice is utter shock, I never dreamt to hear her speak, and so I listen,
smile, reply,
describe events which really should have sealed her fate, she noted them
and which
had been confirmed, and so by contradicting hit-and-run my urine story served
to set me free.
13
...there was no doubt, she was the same, and strangely, no discrepancy, she was
the killer and
my counsel, sychronised outside the law and only cleft in reconciling what I'd seen
the day before,
a simple flaw in understanding, a fault the coming days might rectify
as blandly as
a flat front door, like that I've found and stand before, the boundary of my customer, located on
the second floor, a simple job, the client said, his dish was damaged by the wind, insurance covers
reparation, printed on the duplicate, and I'm the one to put things right, no,
this is not
his place of work, a flat he rents since his divorce, his wife, the bitch, has kept
the house, solicitor,
you know the sort, they never miss a fucking trick, attractive though, he shows
her photo, still mocking
on the desk (neat as his tie), while looking for the office keys, not far from here,
it's her again, I'd swear
it's her, without the coat, the bag, the knife, but probably still lethal, met when
he still probationed
villains, met all sorts and got hands dirty now they're absolutely filthy, follow me, I'm parked outside.
14
...he points, that's mine, the bluish van, you see the dent, the broken headlamp, bastard stole it
in the high street, stopped for fags and left it running, only went a mile or two
but hit a woman,
nearly killed her, left it in the station car park, won't be long, a witness saw him,
knows the bugger,
told the coppers, out behind the shopping precinct, not the new ones,
in a side street,
just stick close, he winks and slams and starts the engine, leaning out to watch
my start-up,
flash my lights and off we go, though one thing’s certain, given the choice
I'd call the office,
say I couldn't find the address, send someone else, this roofs half-life will
not be mine,
I've seen too many ways the links can connect and I have no wish to testify
the final closing
of the hoops or how the hollows shut-up behind may hold our times in
lapping bonds,
I follow the hope of open bounds but at a certain likely curb he tightens off
alternatives,
alights to excuse the urgent stop, says "sorry" at my open window, turns
and hurriedly departs.
15
...my hasty halt is rearranged and then I wait, a minute, five, a further few,
survey the corridor
that led him off between the walls of neighboured shops and finally, refusing shallow resignation,
lock the door and follow through, unsure of my need to verify the nature
of my clients
actions ( it may only be to have a piss, but other factors could result in an unexpected
cancellation, release from future trepidations - should I stroll or hurry on,
blunder into
who-knows-what or gently make it plain I have to terminate my obligations,
jump the contract,
scoot off home ) and in the undecided meantime I have left the cheerless
brick-lined trench,
crossed a ghetto of dog faeces in the weedy fumble of back-houses, brushed through the begging
bushes, stalks blinded by the burly-boys, bent in retreat against a bank where
a stumbled fall of steps
submits the old town to the breaking new, the fragile coast of aging halts at
the plan and prosper
flood, precision shopping rising on a tide of commerce, and there below an
isolated ancient rock.
16
...a spared and rude suburban rock, with bungled garden, fenced against
a garage-dune,
clustered-shut on concrete beach, sparse but for two spars of wreck, their
creature fibres frailed
by sullen to and fro, marooned by habit's parting flow, discerned from where
I spy
on earthy crest, to be a dreadful pairing, now I know, I should have flown,
forsake this
re-found cankered client meddled with his disaffected wife, her coat replaced
by tailored rainwear,
her face the same from killer to counsel to desk-top photo, between them
words,
distressed by distance, their cunning gests curtailed by doubts, except his last,
a blatant thrust,
the weapon groped from jacket pocket as though a token brought to view, withdrawn in awful
recognition, the spouting wound below her jaw and three determined paths
of action,
she to slump and he to briskly leave the scene, myself I ran and drove, to offer crucial evidence,
describe the slashing I had seen, the officer confirmed my fear, a woman had confessed the crime.