Sus tropas se movían

「Between Marx and marzipan in the dictionary there was Mary. Between the deep blue sea and the devil that was me. If ever anyone could help me with my obsession with the young Susannah York it was Mary. If my pink pijamas she asked me for something I gave her the short answer. She read our stars out load and I knew then that we should have gone sailing. But we stayed home instead fighting on the water bed like the honeymoon couple on drugs. Me and Mary. What happened in the past remained a mystery of natural history. She should have been the last but she was just the latest. If she wanted to be a farmer's wife I would endure that muddy life, I would dig for victory. And the sound of happy couples coupling happily in the dark while you and I sat down to tea. I remember you said to me that no amount of poetry would mend this broken heart. But you can put the Hoover round if you want to make a start. All my friends from school introduce me to their spouses while I'm left standing here with my hands down the front of my trousers. I just don't know what's to be done. I wonder sometimes how did Dad meet Mum, and how did they conceive of me, tell me Mary. The boys who came to the shop always made her laugh much more than I did. When I told her this must stop she didn't but an eyelid, she said you know honey it's such a shame. You'll never be any good at this game. You bruise too easily, so said Mary. Her two brothers took me out of circulation for the duration, so we went our separate ways but does she still love me. She still has my door key like a bully boy in a Benetton shop. You're never happy with what you've got 'till what you've got has gone. Sorry Mary.」



*Images (Susannah York). Robert Altman, 1972.
*The short Answer. Billy Bragg, 1993.