Tuesday 6 October 2009

a pretentious poem

Like that I gave it up

withdrew my wrestling techniques

learnt over many summers

and it was hard to swallow.

Held off the sticky touch

of eyes and eyes across coffee

up in his room because it’s better

not to smoke in the kitchen

after a tidy date.

Like a long haul driver

retiring, parking his machine for the last time.

Not to feel the engine shudder beneath

to know how the load fits around tight bends.

He turns to me

wondering if I’d like to stay

I smile politely

after peeking at his neatly laid bed

on my way back from the loo.

it would smell better if I did

in the morning

when the alarm shakes my pillow

or his

to crease the starch

scrape the layers off his back

to be that unforgettable one

that the flat mates would role

eyes about over toast.

He lit a candle

the light lifted my eyes

to make me infinitely more attractive

I catch the last bus home.

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