Snaps 2

Snaps

When Snaps moved in across the street
I ignored him for a week.
He liked to suddenly stand up at events, announce his dissatisfaction
with audience reaction.
In the bar at half-time, I watched him approach groups,
usually silk scarf wearers whose attention had drooped.
They mistook him for a magician, in his too tight red trousers,
offering to produce their dove imaginations like a bunch of plastic flowers,
but when he just stood and stared
they made out they were elsewhere,
straw clunked the cubes in their cranberry mixers,
said things like 'do you think a drink will fix it?'
But thighs squat on cold porcelain
they were reminded of other times they'd felt that kind of emotional abortion,
and on the tube, gave up seats,
felt a sort of rushing heart beat
when they handed over a newsagent sandwich
to a homeless guy whose smile looked like a hieroglyph.
Or at least this is what I'm thinking, as I turn off the light
climb in to my arms and wordless wish Snaps good night.