Victoria June 1998
She's had too much to
drink
and teeter-totters on
expensive shoes
trying to both stay
upright on the rain-slick pavement
and not twist her feet
to risk snapping off
a hundred quid's worth
of heel.
A broken ankle is a
secondary thought
as she slips on a
pancaked Bulmer's tin
in the driveway to a
maisonette.
She giggles and
clutches my arm
bitching about the
so-called friends
we left at the club and
how Cassie's boyfriend
tried to grope her tits
in the smoking shelter.
Brutal honesty from the
black-smeared lips
of a girl normally so
reserved
so when I ask her if
she loves me I get
of course not, you
narna.
I laugh and turn it all
into a huge joke
but behind the mask of
a smile
my soul has been
crushed
like the tin can we saw
on the road.
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