Hugo is clever. He seamlessly blends
In with his young intellectual friends.
They meet in cafés and they talk about books.
He styles his hair to enhance his good looks,

Wears thick black-rimmed glasses,
Attracts tall, thin lasses
Who wear contact lenses and stare and look smart
And have controversial opinions on art.

His tall and thin girlfriend made drawings in chalk,
Outlines of people where more people walk.
A comment, she said, on a culture of death.
She added in glasses and shoes for a bet.

He saw in each outline an unfinished portrait.
A five-year-old child would consider them fourth-rate,
But still he could see an attempt to convey
His premature end in a sad violent way.

The glasses in each of her drawings were always
Just like his own. On pavements or hallways
He saw himself drawn and was always struck dumb
By her clear vision of what he'd become.

He started to notice a look in her eyes.
It once seemed no more than a mere mild surprise.
He saw something dangerously wild in that look,
A stare from the page of a dark true-crime book.

He tried to be nice. He took her to dinner.
At humouring killers he's still a beginner.
The unwanted thought that he'd soon be a gonner
Made him heap praise and small presents upon her.

He took her to plays that would leave an impression
Of happiness rather than death and depression.
He tried to refrain from the habits he had.
Some of the worst could be said to be bad.

Smoking, he quit. He cut down on drinking.
Bikini-clad women were banned from his thinking
In case she could read what went on in his head,
Which may well explain why she pictured him dead.

She thought that these changes were just an illusion.
Her thoughts always led her to one sad conclusion:
That he's up to something he shouldn't be doing.
Her drawings of death's aftermath kept accruing,

And so were the presents. Suspicions were growing.
She couldn't stand idly by without knowing.
One night he left her to visit a friend,
Despite the great lightning that spoke of The End.

She followed him to an old house on a street
Where only the bravest of spirits would meet.
He rang the front doorbell and then went inside.
The rising rain water resembled a tide.

She went round the back where she met a green bin.
The door was unlocked and she made her way in.
The house was in darkness, the power lines down.
Mere candles fought darkness in this part of town.

She tried to stay quiet as she went through the house.
She moved with such stealth she'd surprise a sharp mouse.
Hugo descended the stairs to the hall.
Lightning lit up a dark shape by the wall.

He stood where he was, frozen in fear.
Another bright flash and it all became clear.
He saw the dark raincoat and hat and the face.
His death-inspired girlfriend had come to this place.

He'd rather not mention his screaming and fainting.
He screamed like a man. He says that's the main thing.
When he came round, the lights were back on.
She was still there but his fear had now gone.

She seemed so deeply concerned about him.
The murderous light in her eyes became dim.
He managed to ease her suspicions about
His recent renewal, erasing all doubt.

He got to his feet. They made up and kissed.
That's when he noticed a detail he'd missed.
She'd drawn on the ground, around where he lay,
His outline in chalk. He struggled to stay

Standing upright. He needed a crutch.
She drew in the glasses, the finishing touch.
Beneath the thick glasses she added a smile,
A sudden departure from her normal style.

He smiled at this welcoming change in her art.
The smile on the ground brought warmth to his heart.
No longer afraid, he only felt love
As he looked on his faint ghostly self from above.

He went back to drinking, with immediate effect.
He stopped only thinking about Berthold Brecht.
He stayed off the smoking, a hobby he'll miss.
He's taken up swearing to make up for this.