A response to the poem ‘Crystal’ by Mark Pajak

from his book Slide, shortlisted for the T .S. Eliot Prize 2023

In exquisite words, precise and keen,

The Poet contemplates above the fray.

Though he uses ‘I’ it doesn’t mean

It’s him, the Poet, having all his say.

Anyhow,

The story goes, a barman sees a man

Pour white power in a woman’s drink,

Behind her back it seems. But the man

Behind the bar hasn’t time to think.

Anyhow,

He doesn’t think, ignores the act

And goes about his business cleaning glass.

It’s nearly closing time, he must shut up,

Secure the building so he lets it pass.

Anyhow,

The woman, younger than the legal age

For drinking alcohol in England (this

The barman only works out at this stage)

Leaves with the man (his accomplice ?)

Anyhow,

The tired, impassive jobsworth cleans the glass,

Wipes clear his conscience and the evidence.

(Who’d say: we’re all human, let it pass.

The poor girl’s locked in self-made providence,

Anyhow.

(And anyway, there is no policy

To ask the age of everyone who’s bought

Or drinking alcohol within this sea

Of half-lit wading bodies and time’s short

Anyhow.)

She wobbles, slurs her legs, for all we know

Towards uncomplex sex, not free nor bought

But cached through spiked resistance, each slight ‘No’

Goes incoherent, won’t stand up in court

Anyhow.

The work-bleak barman serves as best he can,

Completes his shift, through glasses checks the light,

Stacks of pots, hung bulbs, and sticks to plan —

For one more timed, uncomplicating night,

Anyhow.

He’s scrubbed the evidence, will keep tight teeth,

Not talk of evil possibility.

Not because of karma’s washing underneath

— for fear or laziness, essentially.