in a street

or a driveway

looking down at the ice


a car came towards me



i wondered

what would give way




or the ice




there’s nothing like

an inside joke

to make you feel

like an outsider


and often

if people explain them

it only serves

to isolate me more


to remind me

of pop culture

i wasn’t there for


of shows

i didn’t grow up



of all the pointless things

i missed


of all the tests

i’ll never pass

The Long Sigh

A long sigh

like an exhale

and then a deep breath


I don’t think we’ve ever actually said goodbye, have we?

I spend most of my time

swallowing all the words I want to say

along with the rest of my tears


The queue for airport security is the worst

Because all I can think about

is these stupid lengths of fabric

man-made barriers


and how easy it would be

to slip under them all

and come back to you


I don’t think you’d object

would you?


Then I come home

where I grew up

and reacquaint myself

with the rest of my things


Remembering the load of washing on the stairs

the types of tea in the cupboard

the shape and size of my bed

how chocolate tastes different here

than it does with you


I think it has to do with

the way it melts

do you think so too?


Perhaps the most painful part of the process

is the slow

creeping realisation


That I cannot make your coffee

I can’t watch you do your hair

I can’t call down to you from the top of the stairs

I can’t scold you for leaving your clothes everywhere


How am I doing? Did I leave anything out?


Missing you

is a thing that happens to me

Missing you

is on a continuum

a sliding bar

of pangs

and aches

and half-formed wishes


But you know all of this already, don’t you?


I was wrong, by the way.


The most painful part of the process

is that I can feel you

missing me