a thirty first poem...'i get nervous'

I get nervous

When you say

You want to meet up

Any given day,

Turn the invite

Upside down

Inside, out, around

(and around).

- I can't see whether you really mean it

Over the bleedin' telephone - 

Still, my guilty feet

Adopt a will of their own

Lead me out the house

Further up the road

(on
..and on)

Until before long

I see you
(anon?)

Sitting, patient on the benches

Outside the bar,

Mercilessly photogenic,

Hair in a tousled bob

(No bra?

..Fresh from of the shower?).

And here it takes

All my residual power

Not to sidle behind the wheelie bins

On the corner

By the chip shop,

- A pre-fab, pink breeze block,

Belonging to the boss-eyed Turk –

And cower.