Monday, 16 January 2017
poetry 2017 / 013
This one time
I had a couple of friends in Walsall.
Richard, I'd known for years
--shared a flat with him, once--
and his wife, Debbie, who used to be
the girlfriend of a mutual friend
but moved around the table.
He worked early mornings, his nights
ending around ten and she and I used to go
around the local pubs drinking, playing pool.
She started seeing this Australian guy
and, with loyalties to both, held me to secrecy.
Foolish, in the end, for when she left
Richard thought I'd shagged her queer
and we never spoke again.