When we got back together for the first time, in that
field after Christmas,
I still remember the cold.
Although warm from chasing a dog,
white as snow,
I was cold.
Winter’s air whipped against my cheeks
and you were there on the phone.
It was cruel.
He was sent to the abattoir
and we were happy.
And now you say you like men in denim jackets
and thick rimmed glasses.

Sorry my eyes are perfect. Sorry I like practical coats for the winter. Sorry I am not ginger.