Come back to Chelsea, it says
Come back
lie in the Hospital Gardens
and sleep
salute the noble veterans
in their madness and decay
hitch up my pencil skirt
and have your way
Come back to Chelsea, she says
Come back
the room is empty and the fridge is bare
it seems so long ago
that leaves were dropping from the trees
as you were taking your degree
and we took each other there
Come back, you fool,
Come back to Chelsea
You will never have it better
I have the money and the size eight dress
I have the King's Road
And the famous guests
But all you have are letters.
Dear Jacqui,
Perhaps you're right.
The thought of your bronzed skin
Touching mine tonight,
the sound of the traffic in Sloane Avenue
and the safety of wealth that came with you,
I cannot deny,
It tempts me.
But even on those warm days
lying under oak trees
and blue skies,
as you sought to resurrect me
on the precious altar of your
perfect thighs,
My mind was not with you.
I was in sodden earth,
and Sierra Leone,
watching bullets fly beyond control,
watching children's guts
divide and burst,
and wondering still
why I felt nothing.
I'm sorry, but I thrive on need
To search for signs of life
In that strange heart you treated well
In that privileged Chelsea light.
Oh Jacqui, it was hell.
3 comments:
Size 8? Cheeky bint. Shouldn't be allowed, shows the rest of us up.
Gorgeous btw, really works, obviously planned and deliberated on.
I didn't even mention those legs.
I've always thought she fits the mould of Mr Cocker's "Common People" girl very well. Although she didn't study sculpture at St Martin's college. She studied French and retail therapy.
But it's not about the waist, it's about the waste. Chelsea is a bit of a wasteland, in my book. My book won't sell, of course.
I thank you, I try to stop rhyming but it can't be helped. Rhyming is better than size 8. Size 8 is just too self-satisfied.
Right on brother. That said, I would actually kill a fellow human being to be a size eight.
And you think I'm kidding.
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