Year-end Grant

[A poem I wrote in 2009, at a New Years' party. Setting it free today. Ainwayee.]

I had heard of human love, thwarted
by the underworld: one backward glance
and all is lost! 

For the gods are cruel and quick
to snatch.

So I expected no generosity, stepping over shards
of sozzled gloom, I stalked the night for
sandpapered hopes: It's new year's and I've paid 

my dues.

On every floor, a bruising joy
brushes past like a metaphysical conceit

that no longer expects to be understood.

Glitter lines two streets - those eyes! - and hair hangs
heavy on balustrades.
Knees pump, sucked-in bellies, a yowl

of beseeching.
The air parts - warm cake 

with rent hearts
of strawberries.

I turn away, but
too late!

The gods have sidled up

and caught my hair, icy hands
on my neck, they whisper: Now! 
Make a wish. Quick!

The countdown begins: ten, nine...

We give you, here, someone to hold.

Eight, seven, six... Scream, hop about, 
kiss... Three, two...

I creep up the steps, tumbling
like plastic glasses of abandoned rum,
I try to hide in a loo where a woman weeps 

(except it is a man: beads, cleavage painted on);
A god follows me in, grim

under that sussurating yawn.

He pretends concern, says: Come!

This is not done. Make a wish.

We're happy this year. Really. 
And even for gods, good times don't last. 
Don't be this way, don't piss me off.
It's new year, come on, 
ask!

The gods are cruel and quick
to snatch, and I had heard
of human love, thwarted
by the underworld: one backward glance...

But when a god stood there, screaming: Ask! 

I lost my head; I felt cowed.

And that was how, this year too,

I went ahead and asked for you.

(C) Annie Zaidi