YOU, ALMOST
Thought I knew you, all legs and lashes that first night in the alley by the scrap metal yard. Black PVC, zippers, siren pose. A wink. Your soft tobacco breath. Maybe-maybe-not eyes. My heart like a double-stroke roll. Let’s get hitched, you said. It was fast love. I told you we should move to some other town——who would stay here in their right mind? Done them to death: the pier, the fruits machines. Fingers in tills, pockets. Slip the fuzz. Map of the sleepy streets, back of my hand. Quit your job in the change booth and Saturday came, same-old, weather wasn’t sure. All of us down the register office: Me, Mum, Craig, Mum’s cousin Joyce, her half-sister Jacqui with what’s-his-name, half the posse——hang on, what about a best man?——no sign of Dad. Like some other sod in that too-tight suit, dickie bow, ribbed by the boys. Heard you went with one of them, couldn’t tell which though, no one was saying, maybe the baby’s not mine. Waited. Waited for you to come in, vivid like morning, all traditional on your Dad’s arm. Minutes in my mouth, alloy taste. Rows of empty seats at the back, crimson velour. My pain, my boiled face. Is it still jilted if there’s no fucking altar? Just you wait, bitch.
