Nottingham bus station
In the days, when you could still
Walk through the Vicky Centre late at night
To get there.
Hair long,
Plaited out the night before
Broken high tops
Keeping your feet cold
My legs folded out
At one side.
My birthday
You gave me a knife, fork and spoon
Wrapped up in text
Newspaper print
From the day before.
It wasn’t the way to say
Goodbye
We mumbled farewell
Me, with a dream
That you were the one
And then
Out of the Selectadisc bag
You pulled my real present
‘The Fall’
And I cried.
Farewell…
Converse, crimped hair
Black skirt, pleated with despair
Our last hours, faded to minutes
And seconds
You found your one true love
As planned
Elsewhere.
thelibraryrooms 