saturday to sunday

carla crept into her dress like a snake in reverse
and sashayed down the hotel hall.
she was libra with a smile.
divorced,
contrite
and with enough attitude to build a wall.
she rode her hips with oiled sex and gyrated her arse.
tennis balls beneath a cloth.
legs that went all the way.
she flipped her mobile and pressed the key marked toni.
she had met toni in aberdeen.
in a restaurant for vegans.
they chewed the cud and later licked their lips.
but toni was only ever for laughs.
baby oil and finger food.
tonight she needed more than company.
tonight she needed more than her own pussy.
the phone threw a curved ball
in the shape of a voice mail message...
"hi, i'm toni. ride me later 'cos i'm busy right now. leave a number"
the night blew a blank.
carla eased herself round a curved wall
and out into the cool streets.
aberdeen was old and moody
and acted like a truculent lover.
grey.
distant.
incomprehensible.
she flipped the mobile again and called her favourite sushi bar.
she liked the taste of raw fish
taking small bites and loving her mouth
as a small drop of juice dribbled down her chin.
she had skin like alabaster,
pale and blanched and hollow,
and she wore her make like a kimono.
soft and silky.
she finished her food and smoothed her way across the grey slabs
to some dive called Krome.
a nightclub playing drum and bass.
pretty boys danced for affection.
belly dancers with cropped T's.
explicit crutches that strove for release.
she took one boy into the sodium alley
and blew his hard on along with his mind.
he was grateful for a wet finger.
a trace of her to linger.
she needed alcohol and so she took a cab
to a bar called Hoakies.
vodkas and rums and cheap booze.
vile but effective.
toni was still on VM.
her voice flayed the airwaves.
toni with an i.
toni with a nose for closets.
the alcohol had sent the night swimming down
rain puddled alley ways where the moonlight
crashed against telephone booths.
she popped into a booth,
hunkered down and released a warm stream of urine.
she needed to get laid.
she needed a man.
a man with a sweet mouth and hung like a stag.
she flipped her mobile again and surfed addresses.
b is blowfish.
c is for crackho.
d is for david.
david?
who the fuck is david?
g is for gloria. (black bitch with big tits)
i is immy lou.
j is for...
BINGO.
jay.
jay had been both soft and hard.
slow and fast as fury.
jay was talented. he played a guitar with his hand and his mouth.
just like jimi.
"hi jay, this is carla. can i come and play?"
somtimes saturdays don't just head into sundays,
sometimes saturdays end up in heaven.