Jeff Bell

I once kissed Pavarotti in Dalston, and allowed
her to cook and clean my home for 14 days.
From pasta to disaster, as favourite watch was broken
and now in need of repair. Later in shame she washed
my feet as they´d turned black from dirt from floor and
lack of sock or slipper.

And with her finally having gone, surveying
my fridge to imagined strains of Nessun Dorma,
I refix its door hinge, and then in relief head to the local
supermarket to replenish my dwindled food supplies.
As I drove there, thoughts of if I didnt shave,
I too could have the seemingly compulsory Dalston
beard, true, nearly everyone around here has one,
even Pavarotti?

I once kissed Pavarotti in Dalston,
as Spring hid in embarrassment,
down Ridley Market Lane.