WATCHING AN ANTONIONI FILM WITH YOU
(After Frank O’Hara’s Having A Coke With You)
I’m thrilled. It doesn’t matter if I don’t care too much
for this particular movie. I get to sit in the dark next to your
body and feel how my body feels real close to your body.
Under the darkness of the 7pm showing, we pass popcorn
between us, giggling like teenagers. A beautiful woman
in a long dark coat hops over rocks on the Amalfi Coast, late 1950s.
Laughter and love in charming accents, which I think are not nearly
as lovely as your particular accent. Crackly screen, dated haircuts
and the timeless quality of a young couple falling in love
against crashing waves. Leading lady looks at her man adoringly.
He looks a little like you, your strong body and your dark hair.
He looks maybe like you would if you were Italian instead of Jewish.
But this is Southwark, not Italy. We pass the Diet Coke
between us, they drink red wine from large glasses. Soon tiring
of the Mediterranean, they argue, making love after –in a simple bed,
white sheets and Jesus on the walls inside a gold frame. You push
my hair behind my ears carefully, your voice in my ear: a tonic.
It doesn’t matter if I don’t care too much for this particular movie.
I’m thrilled. When the credits roll, your lips brush mine
with the intention of a master director.