After our conversation
I was left unsettled, like the pages of my life and been torn out
I left the celebration
As the sky lit up like gold, walking home my usual route

I know the party lasted until late afternoon
and when you are drunk you don't notice much
Empty bottles among colourful, frail balloons
and my glass of wine in the corner untouched

After our conversation
I was left uneasy, like I'd been walking in circles on a straight road
I left the celebration
As the sun woke the city, walking home to the music's echo

I know the party lasted until late afternoon
and when you are drunk you talk too much
Empty words strung in a truthful, painful tune
and my glass of wine in the corner untouched

After our conversation
I was left confused, like I'd forgotten every face and every day
I left the celebration
With a heart that was bruised, and I could hear the sirens not too far away

we talk in
half-hearted courtesies
it's hard to mention
the sun as
it settles
like a child into
the bruised
line of the horizon

our voices carrying
with the sound
of the ocean's
constant turning

Battered and bruised
Destroyed and rebuilt
Alone and afraid
Hurt and confused
After all that you'd think
A heart would stop
Just give up and shut down
But the heart knows
That there's still hope
There's a reason to keep loving

She climbed
Out of the debris,
Bruised.
Face smeared in soot.
A lone trickle
Of blood
Down her temple,
Dried, yet red.
Her clothes ragged,
Her chest bare,
She staggered
Towards shelter
As though dancing
To music
Of sirens that
Rent the air.
Collapsing in a heap,
She looked up
To the offer
Of a drink
Of water that
She sipped
And
Her lips
Curved into
A solitary smile
Of gratitude.

for truly,
who would ever want to kiss a girl
with cut lips
and scarred wrists?

Even though my heart
Is black and blue
The only one who lost
The game- is you.

Ingrid sports a black eye;
she looks like a panda.

She said she walked
into a door;
she doesn't lie
convincingly.

I know her old man;
I passed him
on the stairs of the flats;
his beady eyes
drinking me in,
giving me the cold glare,
the cold shoulder.

We walk through the Square,
off to the shops.

What happened to your eye?
I ask again,
studying the black
and slightly green;
walking beside her,
passing the milkman
and his horse drawn cart,
the horse wearing
a nosebag of food,
ignoring us.

I walked into
the bedroom door,
she says,
knowing I don't
believe her,
looking sheepish,
knowing
I guess the truth.

What have you got
to get at the shops?
I ask.

She shows me a list
on a scrap of paper,
pencil scribbled,
in her small right hand
a handful of coins.

I passed your old man
on the stairs yesterday,
I tell her,
gave him my
Wyatt Earp stare,  
I say, he didn't care.

I note her hair
is unbrushed,
her green patterned dress
unwashed.

We cross Rockingham Street
into Harper Road.

I talked too much,
Dad said,
she confesses,
he said I yak and yak.

We pass the paper shop
and go on
to the grocer shop.

I say,
if I had your old man
in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
I'd fire a cap
up his ***;
she sniggers;
people stare at us
as we pass.