The scariest day of the year is approaching fast. Will he…? Won’t she … ? Don’t they …? Should I …? is it legal to … ?
I’d remove Valentine’s day from the calendar, except my powers don’t extend quite that far … yet. The gifts are tacky and / or market forced upon us, everybody feels a little squeamish, and desperation hits town like a tsunami.
Here is the perfect solution. We are of course all literary types. What better gift then than an entire volume dedicated to lerve? And not just lerve, but lerve in all its strangeness. Weird love, Alien love. Impossible love. Deadly love. Buy it for yourself. Buy it for someone else, and if they respond weirdly, its ok, you were just being like, all ironic and post-modern.
For the lover’s month of February, there is a promotion over at Goodreads which you can check out just by left clicking on this strangely highlighted text right here.
And in advance, here is a poem (for want of a better word) for Valentine’s Day:
Cute girl at the Indian take-away
She doesn’t just have eyes for me,
the girl who serves me Tandoori.
Her quizzical glance and little smile,
is not an exchange of irony,
though I do react,
I cannot resist,
when she swallows me in
with big dark eyes
and the world shrinks down to size,
a planet built for two.
I sip on my mango lassi
while I wait for my curry,
and I watch while she does it again,
one after the other,
with all the men.
At last I comprehend.
She finds us hard to understand,
she speaks English but is not fluent
She stares straight at me
with huge eyes like an owl’s,
trying to comprehend
my flattened vowels.
in the groove,
concentrating on how my lips move.
The tremble of her little duck pout
is just her working out
the words I said
by whispering them again
in her head.
“Tandoori chicken roll
on plain naan.”
“With mint sauce?”