i could taste failure
even in my whisky
watered down to nothing.
her clothes smelt disgusting
her face was dirty, puffy, red.
she lit a cigarette and stared.
you are circumspect.
what? i answered,
not knowing what she meant.
you circle your subject
to get an idea of it:
you circle because
your prey is full of strength;
or you circle,
because the animal you hunt
is almost dead.
which am i you think?
i should have answered
in the positive,
but said:
i want to know
if there is anything left.
at once, her eyes
were filled with hatred.
i think that is a fair request,
i added.
what more could be said?
this was not an actress-
no one cared.
as a journalist,
i was being honest:
my readers want gossip-
hagiographic nonsense-
few would wonder
at the depths
of this woman's conscience:
what fears she conquered,
what knowledge
wrested from despair.