Poems

Midnight Screening

 


Anxiety at the image of two
blondes and tortured tension 
radiating from abandoned 
sheets. What do they want?

Towards the end the snout 
of a crocodile appears, 
with reptile - green eyes,
this is before he strikes,
triggering macabre revelry.

Like owls, they shriek 
in their denim Bermuda shorts,
with their friends, legs 
covered in tufts of curly hair, 
the jackal's cry
of an ambulance
shutters the silence,
as the audience evacuates
the screening hall
in total blackness.

Someone mustached
leers maliciously at me,
as if already his prey. 
In the darkness one 
must recover from the 
cinematographic pretension 
with Rafi, who only 
likes "action", and to try 
to recall any film
as if no film 
has never, ever been. 

Instant coffee making its way 
within uncaring innards,
in this relentless night,
as crickets stridulate our desolation.
The ten year old film’s prestige,
and the nightmarish spirits
return finally to their abode. Robbed,
we plead for morning watch.

Photo by  Erik Witsoe

Photo by Erik Witsoe