A man and a woman pause
on the footbridge over the estuary.

A century ago trains crossed here.

I recognize the woman:
myself sometime in the past,
finding her way out
of a morass.

The man is the mystery figure:
the seething rage of his jealousy.
How tiresome he is
yet flattering
to think I have the power
to make someone this unhappy.

He balls his hands into fists.
This could get serious.
Someone could get hurt.

In his story I am Carmen.
He, the soldier I have seduced.
I play the role for a while

liar tramp

for the excitement of it.

A woman with short white hair
walks by with her dog.
She smiles gamely at us.

She is out of the game
and glad of it.

Someday I will know
exactly how she feels.

For now, such passion is mine.
I must calm this man down.
I am good at this.