A Discussion about Fidelity in aPub

Liverpool, UK, 7th. January 1997

Alone, she caught my eye--
not unusual when one is oneself alone:
attractive certainly, fine-boned,
a mane of rough dark hair, something vaguely
petulant in her radar gaze
as it swept across the bar.
The man who joined her didn't look her type—
tall, stolid, with the moustache
of a quiet man.
A pint for him and a whisky for her,
they sat on the edge of earshot and
then she began.

It was a clinical attack,
surgical in its precision.
 I caught "....shagging her".
She was awesome to watch:  I was
glad it wasn't me on the
end of that torrent, but she looked
relaxed in her anger. It was
twenty minutes before he even
made a gesture—the one the bear makes probably,
before the dogs in the bait.
She watched and chain-smoked—her lighter
like a flame-thrower. Dear God,
I thought, if she is as passionate in bed as now....
But some men can live on the edge of a volcano
while others sit and watch from
a safe distance.

(The date is the real date of this. I found it tonight while looking for something else.)