Some half memories.

Hull

Knocked back by a boy for the first time; eight times in a row
because the first was a maybe.

Scanning bike shops on the high street for bargains
only to find my dad’s fresh-stolen pink one.

Leaving the cinema, my lip shuddering
with the tears I should’ve spent in the dark.

Wincing at off-notes in Könige der Nacht
as if I could do any better.

Shovelling shit to keep warm in ammonia steam,
and move it from here to there.

Slipping into a tight cream polyester shirt; warming my voice
with vowel exercises whilst sticking on blue lapels.

A shapeless grey jumper I thought of as love
in the bin.

Driving past our old house and on the back wall
a gap where a tree should’ve been.