My Face Saw Her Magazine Poem by Sam Riviere

across the moonscapes of skateparks you are 13 yrs old
& no longer allowed to play with boys / on platform 6
wearing your amazing cape you are not in fact you
but someone else / while I'm a guy who mishears lyrics
resulting in a more beautiful but private understanding
with your dark fringe white shirt & straw hat you are
the palest goth at the picnic / resolutely uncharmed
by my very charming friend you are the poster of disinterest
in bed & matching underwear you are disguising the tunnel
we dug in the american prison / not answering my texts
what you are is the briefcase glowing with golden contents
I realise I can only look in one eye at a time / it is pure
propaganda the pupil a blot of blackest inkjet ink
in your luxury woollen garment you are an advertisement
for luxury woollen garments / & then & then you wink