Hard Shoulder

Late in the Forest I did Cupid see

colde, wett, and crying hee had lost his way..

Lady Mary Wroth, 1587-1651.

Chucking out time, and I saw him

shirtless, sweaty, stumbling around -

he looked lost in the street light

and I felt sorry.

I gave him my hoodie and a tissue,

he said his mate had left him,

he had nowhere to sleep for the night -

he didn’t know a soul.

I didn’t mind helping him,

I was sober and there was something vulnerable

about the tufted shock of his back:

I knew he wouldn’t try anything on.

Too young, too green. We drove home

in my Mini, but he begged me

to stop so he could take a piss.

Do it in a bottle, I said,

but he wasn’t having any of it,

filling a pothole with golden foaming bubbles

turning round, lighting me up with his eyes,

torching my poor pink heart.


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