Third Fight
I don't remember
what our fight was
about
dissatisfaction with
the relationship
stagnation over the
proximity
or the fact I was away
all week
fingerbanging the girls
from the art school
(or so you believed).
I recall we were in the
park
(or maybe the cemetery)
a bench, anyway,
with you in your winter
coat and scarf
and me in my motorcycle
leathers.
You walked off,
home to your mother's
or to your friend
Jude's.
I went back to
Wolverhampton
where the parties went
on all night
and smoked a joint on
the tower block roof.
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