Bullet Holes
by Jon Tait
Marija the serbian barmaid wanted to work in london
& was duped by some dubious agency
into this dark corner of northumberland
enveloped in hills & sky purple as new bruises
& she looks like rosalba neri
sultry beauty of 70s cinema
so i raise a glass of sambuca
to her eyes all black olive & cappuccino
& smoking like mt. etna
as she sings us a schooldays song to tito
& confides to me conspiratorially
that she wants to become a spy,
conjuring images trench coats & trilby’s, barbed wire,
whispered messages & codes,
but still i cannot see the bombing raids
the twisted metal & bullet holes in her smile.