the heel press

Oh god,
she didn't tell you?
Lovebug must be going around,
thinks she caught it on the train today.
Some russian guy.
Pea coat.
Rubber shoes.
[I get a real kick you know,
the way she always thinks shes in love.
The film that runs through her eyes
as she plays through movie scripts with
every single guy]
Anyways,
he calls himself Nikolai.
Says he adores the way her lips move impulsively while she thinks,                                                                  the way her eyebrows seem to chase after one another.                                                                              Says he might love her,                                                                                                                            'exhausted all the possibilities baby and
 we've gotta be together.'

Foreign,                                                                                                                                                              like a rabbit from a hat,                                                                                                                                       she moved her ears slightly,
[you know, the way she never does]
she bit her lower lip,
kissed him on the mouth,
and that was it.
Two kids,
beach side property,
interest pays credit to loan sharks,
the capital hall drunks.
A dog,
a cat,
even a goldfish.
You've got it honey.

It's change in the piggy bank.
Shake your fist,
make a mess.
The dance hall drunks passed out on the cabaret floor,
the fruitless orchard on a caribbean shore.
You've got it honey.

It's the doorbell that kept on ringing,
through the evening and into the morning.
The after party.
Night-timing.
You're the coral on the ocean floor,

all alone in a spin-cycled tide.