Sunday, 24 April 2016
April Poems 2016/23
Victoria June 1998
She's had too much to drink
and teeter-totters on expensive shoes
trying to both stay upright on the rain-slick pavement
and not twist her feet to risk snapping off
a hundred quid's worth of heel.
A broken ankle is a secondary thought
as she slips on a pancaked Bulmer's tin
in the driveway to a maisonette.
She giggles and clutches my arm
bitching about the so-called friends
we left at the club and how Cassie's boyfriend
tried to grope her tits in the smoking shelter.
Brutal honesty from the black-smeared lips
of a girl normally so reserved
so when I ask her if she loves me I get
of course not, you narna.
I laugh and turn it all into a huge joke
but behind the mask of a smile
my soul has been crushed
like the tin can we saw on the road.