CONOR O'CALLAGHAN
Outtakes
Somewhere for
anyone to happen on,
unheard, unreferenced,
on master tape,
my outtakes,
the edges of completion,
still survive
as leftovers from a cleaned-up
final version.
They have been filed away
for someone
killing time in an archive
to stumble across
while his fiancé
collects her
coat and pay cheque and clocks off:
-my nervous
coughing; a few pat words
of instruction;
the dry-run that amounts
to attempting
"Baa Baa Black Sheep" backwards;
fingers drubbing;
some seating adjustments;
the technical
hitch purring like a fridge
in the wee hours;
an entry off cue;
a pitcher of
tap water clinked; the bridge
of "Norwegian
Wood" lilted out of key;
a gag about
old dentures which falls flat
after tripping
on grasps, slurring the same
diphthong twice;
groaned from the editing suite--
"And from the
top again, in your own time";
a pause to wangle
a cut for the news;
the reel let
run through apologetic
yawns and ill-judged
ad libs and the tannoy's
pointers on
pronunciation; static
like rain on
a skylight; a clearing throat;
the suggestion
of five to download
three seconds
of wind through a field of wheat
or footsteps
nearing on an asphalt road;
blowing on coffee
with neither sugar
nor milk; a
last pre-emptory sniffle
within range;
the odd expletive on air;
a hangover's
residual crackle
swept beneath
the first riffs of a fugue;
requests for
a breather and a script re-think;
stammering on
flashbacks of last night's fug;
a Swatch bleating
six; mid-sentence, a blank
or fluff or
coming too close to the mike
at the thought
of underthings on a floor;
a door sighing
shut; my mumbling junk like--
"I'm not sure
I can do this anymore."
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