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Stalker
By David J.
Dalley
____________________
Beyond these shipshape garden borders
you'll find I trimly fit the bill,
defying two restraining orders,
bedraggled but with time to kill.
I'm the loner at your driveway gate
with rucksack, pen and sodden hair
and guile enough to appropriate
your wash-day underwear.
From the haven of a call-box phone
I rang you twenty-seven times
and in between my breathless moans
I begged
to be
your valentine.
I crept across your patio
to play our game of peek-a-boo,
I saw you come, I saw you go,
I watched you with your husband too.
I'm sorry that I drugged your dogs
and chased your Saab along the road,
then sent you murky Polaroids
of me
at home
unclothed.
I carved our names upon a tree,
sketched heart shapes in the sand,
became your blooded devotee
with a tattoo on my hand.
I may not be of handsome build,
of noble stock or pedigree,
but I have schemes and dreams to fill
with metaphors
of you
with me.
Infatuation's not a crime,
you may just find it flattering,
you'll see me as a friend in time,
unbolt your door,
invite me in.
____________________
David J. Dalley (aka David David) - (b1964) Now
resides in the wilds of rural Sussex, UK having previously lived in Washington
State, USA (by mistake). By day a landscape photographer and purveyor of
photographic equipment; by night a writer of short fictional or
semi-autobiographical stories and poetry, some of which has been published in
print (miracles do happen). He collects toy robots, listens to Van Morrison and
would very much like to get to know the Scottish BBC journalist/broadcaster
Kirsty Wark.
Well, who wouldn't? The poem "Stalker" is dedicated to her.
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