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.