Unexpected Sunshine
And the light’s fading,
syrupy rich sunlight that touched the faces
in the market, in the centre of town
but didn’t sweeten their appearance to me
as I wondered aimlessly on my day-off.
The strange people are out,
the ones that move slower, seemingly with no
purpose.
Like the black anorexic girl who once chatted to me
years ago, when I was trying to get a place
at the college and my girl at the time got jealous.
The one I see drifting into D block.
I saw her just now; eyes fixed, barely moving through the crowds.
Her face gaunt. Deflated. She looked like God had touched her.
I don’t know what that means, I just kept thinking God. God. God.
I have seen death. The dumb blunt finality of it.
All fires burn out, no matter how fierce.
In the sun by the church where Bobby and Emma got married
I closed my eyes.
I thought of the young girl in town with beige coloured jeans
I thought of her supple shape and my hairy stomach convalescing
like the sunshine on the ugly market stalls.
I remembered all the girls I’ve fucked.
All the beautiful pools I’ve swam in.
I feel like I’m close to something.
Chris Guidon is a man who like chinese food and has lots of books. He’s a published writer, an occasional painter and a reluctant shift worker in a lab in kidderminster.