Hot Date Poem by Dorothy Featherstone Porter

Pine trees
come most alive
dripping with resin
in a fire

I've got a hot date
with Death

will she be
my boiling Celt?

will we dare
the White Horses?

dewy together
Death and I

hot-sea blue

or will Death
be my curly cork-screw
Jew?

'I'm you
I'm you'
she moans

knocking me to the floor
of an old blood hotel
sucking out my breath

Oh Death!

I never knew you
in a dress
in high heels

just the melt
of your breasts
the fork-lift
of your tongue

I can't bring home
a devil
to meet my mother

but I won't
ring for a taxi

I'm not leaving

until you tell me
about yourself

let's talk, Death

can't we be friends?

is it all
sex
with you?

do you like cricket?
do you like tennis?

what did you think
of this year's Film Festival?

Sip your long black
slowly, Death,

I want to know you

do you want
to be my second cousin
twice-removed?

Celt or Jew.

You'll never be English, Death

I said Goodbye to All That
with my last Anglican
Communion

I can't remember
the wafer
I couldn't get drunk
on the wine

Celt or Jew.

Breath or dew.

You'll never be faithful.
I'll never be true.

Because, Death,
I'm not simple

and neither are you.