ROBERT JOHNSON & ME:
You looked at me, rolling the thinnest cigarette from behind
thick tortoiseshell shades & 1950’s lips. A summer dress,
in Autumn, off-the-peg chic, Black & Cream, stared straight
at me. Red nails for thrills smiled as you rose to leave
clutching something bad for later. The pattern on your dress
burned into the back of the eye long after you left, but no
memory of a wrong turn at the cross-roads.