poem from march 27

and at once, a wave hits.
you are not here, forever.
the tears are bees in my eyes
and then i’m battling down
borough high street.

a chugger mimes at me
“earphones out?”
i weep in his direction.
and for the fifth time this hour
emily and amy tell me deliverance has already
been sent.

if you were here, now, we’d be shooting the shit
cracking beers down the phone
what the neighbours are up to
dogs doing laps
in the background.

we’d dream of a cottage in connemara
and after an hour
or two
i’d read you in on my deepest secrets
and you’d say
“whatever it is,
do what makes you happy.”

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