Peter’s not friendly. He gives me sideways looks.
The architecture is far from reassuring.
I feel uneasy.
A pity, Гўв‚вЂќthe interview began so well:
I mentioned fiendish things, he waved them away
And sloshed out a martini
Strangely needed. We spoke of indifferent mattersГўв‚вЂќ
God’s health, the vague hell of the Congo,
Anti-matter matter. I felt fine.
Then a change came backward. A chill fell.
Died, and began to give me sideways looks.
‘Chirst,’ I thought ‘what now?’ and would have askt for another
But didn’t dare.
I feel my application failing. It’s growing dark,
Some other sound is overcoming. His last words are:
‘We betrayed me.’