Detach and Withdraw

I’m fed up 
of blank pages
and empty promises
and long pauses
and withdrawal
scratching about 
for morsels
of you


Commanding your attention 
was easy
a little black dress
a tight white top
holding it
proved to be
too much
a grey area

Party Line

I miss the days of beer mat dating 
autographing your number freely
on compressed cardboard
in rancid little pubs
flipping it to one of the weekend lads
anxious to hook up
with a girl in stiletto heels
coasting carpets 
matted with mixers 

You’d wait for him to get in touch 
from a change fed phone box
preferably the next day 
the next week
(or the next time he was wasted)
to ask if you remembered him
as he traced smiley faces
on condensation choked windows
handset trapped 
between jaw and shoulder
with phone cord spring loaded 
round his wedding ring finger

But the only thing that rang
was the echo of rejection
the tin can connection
of Cantor’s theorem
calling collect

Drip Dry

some things hurt more back then
like mysterious phone numbers
scrawled in black eyeliner
on the back of scalped beer mats
and mislaid lingerie of one nighters
half hidden beneath the bed

some things have been smudged into insignificance 

by all the water that’s gone under the bridge
I renounced their status as painful reminders
downgraded them to ‘small stuff’ for palatability
just a string of random numerals
and drip-dry, dirty laundry