@MattAbbottPoet

@MattAbbottPoet
Image © Copyright Amy Charles Media 2014

21 Mar 2014

It's A Cold Wind Down By The Don


He notices the tattoo on her hand,
which brushes her hair behind her ear,
as she chuckles
at a tedious remark.
Four white bread rolls,
semi skimmed milk,
orange juice with bits,
mayonnaise (on offer),
and eight bottles of San Miguel:
all it took to illuminate
a tedious journey home.


He falters three times,
as Green Lane meets with Alma Street,
at 10:59pm:
praying he'll convince her,
claiming casual coincidence,
he's frozen by the prospect
that Charlotte's smile
as she leant over him to reach some carrots,
and her assistance on the self service checkouts,
will disintegrate
refutably
off duty.


Groceries scrawled on envelopes
provide perfect excuses
for trotting to Tesco.
He's been anxiously waiting to ask her for weeks.
And as she mentions, twice in one sentence,
that she drinks in The Shakespeare after work,
he blindly strokes his chin,
purchases a scratchcard,
and then leaves,
completely empty handed.


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