I was the boy.
You were the girl.
We raced home everyday after college.
Hours spent horny on a little patch of grass.
Disappointment bled each month.
Whilst overheated in my room.
A single bed made for two.
And I was the director. You were the artist.
We would build a house.
Made of one way glass.
Me be the boy.
You be the girl.
And your mother spied.
And your mother knew.
Hot chocolate isn’t coffee.
You tried to be grownup.
We wanted a bubble to hide in.
I learnt to drive and bought a car.
Got a flat.
Kept my bank statements in a folder.
Put up pictures.
Drank wine.
Grew up.
We totally missed the point.
And your mother’s eyes were watching.
They watched the shadow of a girl she once knew.
Me be a man.
You be a woman.
You had secret conversations on the phone.
I got the car its MOT.
I used to say,
When I have a girlfriend , a car and a credit card
I’ll be happy.
I had a visa sign tattooed to my forehead.
Borrow money. That was the answer.
We’ll pay it back.
Because we were going to be so successful.
And your mother watched it all.
She observed through the refractions of her tears,
Through plaster thin walls,
Through rusty steal,
Through cardboard boxes filled with clothes,
She had memorised it all.
She painted pictures with her tongue.
She stalked your breath.
And she knew exactly where to find you
Hiding under the front room table.
She whisked you away.
Tucked you into bed.
And I never saw you again.
