Inez

I see you Inez: head down in concentration. Camped at your desk. Research notes in neat stacks: the advisory pings and bleeps of your personal computer play a Glass-ical tone poem. On one side your hair is tucked behind your ear, while the rest swag-curtains your face. Perhaps that’s why you don’t see me.
You change from keyboard to pen metronomically; digital medical science tracts digested through ink. Occasionally your liquid eye fixes on the screen with a critical look; another musical bong announcing an unwanted virtual visitor. Leaning back in the swivel chair, you stretch your arms and take your pleasure in this seriously. An air-conditioning hum kicks in to counterpoint Microsoft’s metallic music. You relight the incense burner with a chef’s match.

I see you now Inez. Across the rustic wooden table behind the stuccoed house. Bare-legged in the sun. Your half-drunk coffee cools in the humourous mug that Viki bought you; a chewed biro is in your hand, the scarred wood is covered in scraps of paper and your loved and battered dictionary lies open at ‘metaphor’. A tango plays softly somewhere inside the house. Your smile says the words we cannot speak.