girls from class were looking for someone to move in
with them.
I didn’t say goodbye to him – just slipped
out once he’d left for work. He never called or texted to
ask why, or where –
our time was but a blip, Ava!
I do think of it warmly, though,
or tepidly at least.
He was distant, sure –
he tolerated me – got angry if I made the slightest
noise or mess – but here’s the thing, Ava – I wanted to
be small and soulless for a bit,
and honestly, I even liked the sex.
Pummelled flat, face down
tugged under, tossed about, mouth full of salt and
sand… Poseidon, is that you old friend?
A lovely flatline of a summer.
And all the concrete dirty-talk was kind of hot
once you got into it –
volumetric asphalt reinforced
Is there letting agent dirty-talk, Ava?
Are you a cosy one-bed? Bet you are.
Bet we could jam another occupant or two in
at a push…
Anyway,
I saw this girl from class say that they needed
someone to move in last minute and that was it –
I jumped ship –
swam off to Girl House like the little rat I was.
I am.
Girl House.
Six of us in one big terraced home –
the biggest bedroom that I’ve ever had – a chest
of drawers, a mirror leaning up against the wall, a bed,
and nothing else except the bare magnolia, big sash
window, great expanse of what was once green carpet,
faded to a brownish grey.
I liked those girls, Ava,
but they already had a friendship formed in
first year – anecdotes of freshers’ week, of club nights,
