First Love

i.

Our bench:
rows of fairy lights rope
towards the turbulent city

Warm evenings, playing in the park,
till your mam came shouting .
Every night of summer.

You never cared how different we were.


ii.

Toilet paper decorates leafless trees and
your lungs fill with newly discovered smoke as
You admire your handiwork.
The sexes split. You tease
the girls for attention.


iii.

Those amber lights merely rows
upon rows of ugly terraces all designed by the same architect.

We never talk.

iv.

You were seen
with your hands
down her trousers

tomorrow you will blame intoxication.

v.

Under the red skies, we exchanged memories like
veterans warmly recalling fallen friends. Swings rocked
in the winds, squeaking slowly sharing our dynamic;
juxtaposed on that faithful bench. You told me you hated what
you had become.

Red turned grey turned black,
drizzle soaked our skin.
You held me close as we walked
back to your house--

It wasn't your first time
I ignored the pain.

vi.

You never visit the park anymore.

I haven't seen you since the day
you called me
a whore.


vii.

You're eighteen now. Rumours
tie knots between you
and heroin.

I took a walk up the hill today;
On our bench two children sat.

To them, the fairy lights still glimmer and
the echo in the wind, blissful.