The Irish Girl

In bed, waiting for an Irish girl. A good Irish girl she said, not that I would doubt her, not for one moment.
Shining in the moonlight.
She undressed down to her pants, still shining. I asked her to open the curtains, she asked why?
I like to see what I am doing, she laughed.
Lying there in my bed, in my stale unwashed sheets, I wondered if she would notice it, mention it... if she did?
I’m sorry about the bed.
Why?
Its hard.
Yes.
And you fall towards the middle.
Yes.
Shining white in the moonlight, she opened the curtains.
I’ll keep these on, she said, referring to he panties, because we can’t, you know.
There are ways of enjoying yourself even so. She got into bed. The nicest thing is when a girl pulls you towards her.

We met at a party. There are many meeting at parties, for me at least.
It was a Saturday. A Communist tutors party. A Communist party, party.
It was the farewell party for third year students. We celebrate, supposedly.

Someone threw a beer barrel out of a bathroom window, without opening the window. The only thing that sticks in my mind about the party. She found it amusing, I didn’t. But then familiar as I was and contemptuous as I was.
The host was irate, bloody students.
Why don’t you laugh?
Why do you?
I think its funny.
And I don’t.
Oh.

She was newly arrived, a first year.
I walked her home from the party. We passed my place, I said nothing.
There is someone in my place, she said.
Oh, I asked, who?
My boyfriend.
Ah.
Just in case you thought of coming in.
No.
Listen, I said, as we walked on, Why not come back to my flat for a coffee? If you would like, mind you it is a dirty rat hole.

No, I don’t think so.
Shining.
When talking to me. Later when telling a little tale, recounting a small anecdote, when starting a conversation, she always said...
And she did an all.
It was funny but perhaps not in the correct way.
Shining.
She closed her eyes and moved under me like a serpent. Her mouth was open but no sound came out... an she did an all...
Shining.