Man Crush

So your carte is entirely blanche 

and you must name one man you fancy

she says, 

having just listed twenty-six women 

she fancies,

having lured me outside,

umbrellaless,

into the strained, ecstatic rain of fantasy.

I think. I Think. I THINK.

Paul Simonon, I say. In 1977. Not now. 

Who? she says.

Paul Simonon. Does that make me gay? I say.

It depends, she says.

On what? I say.

On whether I'd fancy him too, she says.

Oh, I say.
 

Sometimes I wonder if anyone else

finds it all quite as confusing

as I do.