In at the Deep End

I remove my finger poised above the dial
To take her phone call late.
'Are you alone? I want to see you', she says calmly.
Coffee is promised and I am too tired to argue for tea.
Under the clock tower, we must meet tomorrow.
Next day she turns her back to the church bell's eleventh strike.
'Do you smoke this brand?'
'Mild?'
'Extra strong. Try one ' you won't regret it.'
Who is this woman? A smoker wearing black.
From somewhere above they have us in their sights.
What are we up to the two of us?
A smokey coffee bar follows. Nothing to get a handle on.
Later a note, scribbled on moon crisped paper,
Is slipped under my hotel room door, number 39.
It tells me they need to take me under cover of darkness
To see someone at an unspecified time and place.
This means I will miss out on black coffee tomorrow.
And tonight her sleak white body marshened
Under flashing neon will remain alien to me.
Now it is they who have gained an advantage because
Between the gap in my story there is nothing.
A big hole needs filling - that is all I know.
You see I am a kind of investigator
Borrowed short term on verbal contracts.
Risking my life because I can adapt to any situation.
They won't believe my story about her being a distraction.
To everybody else I am nothing like a hero.
Making good, papering over the cracks
In a wall held together with spit and ash.
In other words my cover, as I wrote before
In my post school day's drivel, is as a decorator:
Long in the bristle with imitation paint stained hands.
I close my eyes that night, cold, damp
Sheets resting heavy against my bronzed skin.
Something was going to happen so it was no surprise
To wake curled up at the deep end of some
Swimming pool cool in the autumn known here as fall.
Red and yellow New England leaves making up
Last night's pillow against the bottom of this concrete bed.
Up a snow white slope towards the shallow
End crisp packets, twigs and dead leaves scurry,
Blown by a breaze in lazy circles. A half smoked cigarette is
Cast down into the dry depths next to my waking face.
I will be late for breakfast but I am ready for anything:
A kick, a punch, a snap then a crunch.
Cold pressed steel
Making a perfect O at the nape of my neck.
No, not this.
Especially when it is followed with a delicate kiss.