1000 Views of “Girl Singing”

A street corner is festooned with
wind and a black woman stands
warbling Don’t Cry for Me Argentina blinking
up at the crisp winter sun.

I trudge past with a
London expression of ‘get the fuck out
of my way’, with no time for the black
lady singing, with no eye contact.

An old couple, stiff with chill soften
my demeanour and make me angry that
I’m up there with the best briefcase
grimacers, as they reach round their
cardboard Starbucks cups, warming
their hands and

pulling scarves closer to their pleated
necks. I start the words in my head, ‘All
you will see is a girl you once knew’, silently
trying to keep the vicious late afternoon
sky from bending into deadly night.

He has had many chances and I have
let him balls it up: the last of the feckless
romancers who tripped and fell.
“With every mistake we must surely
be learning?” He has muttered uncertainly with
an Argos guitar.

“This is a game of spin the bottle that I will
lose, and don’t want to play to begin with.” I
argue. Black woman singing. Winter sun.
“You cannot snort

at my attempt to give this my all, for I have
put all my eggs in one basket while you were
still running with yours on a spoon.”
Black woman chirping. Crisp winter sun.

I jeopardized high returns and you played to
win, whilst I danced to melodies that
only animals could hear, in an empty
room. I lost myself but now am
found, spread-eagled, on a London street.

Black woman singing. Crisp winter sun.
Unlike yours, my wings will not desert
me, as I shift my thoughts

and blink up at the crisp winter sun.

(By and © Jemma Green)

[Note: Jemma is a creative writing student currently living in Cornwall]

[NOTE: IF ANYONE SENDS ME A NEW VERSION OF 'GIRL SINGING' I WILL HAPPILY POST IT]