The Deep Blue Sea

The two women in the front row
are twins with dyed red hair.
They turned up for the wrong film –
thought they were seeing My Week With Marilyn,
but it’s The Deep Blue Sea by Rattigan.

I start to relax.
Everyone coughs and whispers.
The trailers finish,
the film starts
with white letters, fire crackers
in London – Somers Town –

where curtains are drawn
over bomb-site windows.
She counts her bracelets
with awkward elegance.
Her fingers mean so much,
because they touch
survivors.

Excitement and fear
in cluttered pubs.
Alcohol breaks down inhibitions,
until love has permission: red nails on white flesh,
tongues and petticoats,
pills to overdose,
an emetic to restore equilibrium.

The luxury of health,
and taking it for granted.
Long lean legs and cigarettes.

Let’s smoke and lose the memory.

Pearls and black snakeskin –
symmetry.
Passion flowers,
passion people –
safety.

Green velvet trees.
A sailor went to sea.
Nicotine depression.
Sex without obsession.

Words and Art by Sam Burcher

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