APRIL

i’ll stop writing about london soon

HIGHGATE

you are always unhappy in highgate.
i visited you at home once and was surprised
that you left the windows open all night

so the curtains flapped in the cold
and also that there were so many cuttings on your wall
about the highgate vampire. you said your uncle

spent the night in the cemetery and saw ghosts,
didn’t laugh when i said he must have been high,
didn’t smile when i said that i always dreamed of bells

and voices even when i spent the odd night outside
of the crypt. you said there’s nothing funny
about highgate cemetery, but when we went through it

karl marx looked so solemn that i had to cover my face
to keep from laughing. you walked me down highgate hill
and when i kicked at the slush you said we don’t get enough

snow in london. i said that the sky was pale enough
for more, and held on to you to keep from falling over.