each episode plays
out across the street
as loud young braves
in short-sleeved shirts
enact rites of passage
for prospective lovers
(un)suitably in uniform
in yet another evening
in another velvet autumn
in another distant town
alone in my unlit room
squeezing the last from a cheap red
not stopping to wonder
what became of us
our symphony played out
the stage finale dismantled
but the truth
my loveliness
is quite simply that you
should never have
fu*king told
her
© copyright Russell Cavanagh