You’re not years away from standing on that corner.
Waiting for ‘clients’, avoiding getting up the duff
with the child of some stranger, who has you bent at the waist.
He won’t hold you, but you’ll hold your knees and shriek at the sky –
your skirt halfway down your hips, my dear.
And I won’t be there, but thought of me always will be.
Thousands of eyes pass you by and all you have are real’ fuzzy tomorrows.
The wrong way home could end them. Who knows if you’ll chance it?
Now you’re not mine, no one’s waiting for you to get home.
No one to worry if you’re late once. You reckon it’s worth it?
You’re free of my noise and my jealousy. A better life, yeah?
You’ll shove on those bloody heels, and hope whoever stumbles towards you isn’t
And maybe I’ll see you, like a faded blossom, grown in a tree’s shade.
Stuck in the shadows. Probably any number of bites on your neck.
Ha ha ha, maybe that’ll teach you, if I laugh as I step away.
You’d stamp your feet and cry on the pavement, even then.
You’re not that bold girl I wanted, winking even when I bellowed.
You waited until she was born, then decided our love wasn’t
You’re dulled, still, sighing and now you’re not mine.