Wednesday night

following choir two hours till the bus.

'Raiders on,' I said 'let's go, Rosie, go go!'

We galumphed to George (Street)

plonked down row five - no popcorn, tickets left us fully

short.

Fifth? Why there - the cinema housed ghosts 'cept for twinned heads

(swapping spit in back - gross)

See, I needed my eyes to peripherally imbibe

the spec-techy colour adventure.

Then Rosie

nudged me hard (it hurt)

'It's Brett!' she gulped

I didn't believe couldn't (at first)

there you lounged mouth agape eyes kaleidoscope.

Drug-addled, I thought,

I'd perused your baboon portrait

and I wrinkled my sniff-missy conk.

Still your glamour entranced

streamed water-danced the leaves of a Narnian willow

as I watched with one eye

light dehumanise

your mad Willy Wonka hair (Gene Wilder)

the lone transfixed thought

forever Escher-caught* (Stairwell)

repeated a knell

tolled out

regaled: Aslan. Aslan. Aslan.