These are the things I love, she said
As she hid her eyes
behind windows of dreams
And looked out across
the small town gleams
Of streetlights and
faglights on bottle smash hill
Where girls tease boys
with sexual thrill
No longer intent on
getting a head
The boy behind her
listened instead
To a television
presenter’s mouth
As he advertises a life
down south.
His mind all hot
flusters, wanders
How good in bed are
those he squanders.
She looks so hard and
tries to see
The film of her life
under the tree
But she squints; it isn’t there
And no poor soul seems
to care
That she has vanished
in camera flashes
And cheap home brew and
vodka dashes.
And she turns in fear to see the man
Who’d failed to think
and failed to plan
When boys met girls
with crates of beers
Every week for endless
years
And every cop and feel
was new
And now she’s stuck
with I love you.
