Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

We hated each other.
When we met in pubs with friends of friends,
we sat and bitched like a divorced couple.

One night we were physically separated;
she threw a drink at me, I thought equality
and threw the beer soaked contents of an ashtray at her.

We showed up in the same places many times,
until one night, we were at the same party.
It was late and I stood up to take the only remaining bed,
she said “We’ll share it then”, thinking I would object.

Everyone watched in amazed silence
as we went upstairs together to the single bed,
like Hitler holding the door open for a Rabbi.
In the dark I took off my t-shirt and jeans,
she removed her skirt and jumper and we lay,
lights off, back to back.

Quiet time passed and suddenly she was stroking my head.
I turned round and we kissed for a few minutes.
She touched my face and I ran my fingers down her body.

She had removed her skirt but was still wearing her tights.
We hugged and when our eyes had adjusted to the darkness
we stared at each other like cats before a fight.

I moved my hand up her thigh and she gasped.
I smelled her breath, close-up and warm.
She kissed my neck and said “Is that vanilla?”
I nodded. “You smell like my little sister” she told me
and continued to hug me.

We fell asleep. The sun came up and we woke
nose to nose, staring at each other again.
When we finally got up, we dressed in silence
and went downstairs.

I sat on the arm of the chair and picked up the phone.
Sarah stood in front of me as I waited
for someone to answer at the taxi rank.

All affection was over.
We got in the taxi with two strangers,
she reverted to her usual self
and started to argue with me.
I was glad when I left the car.
And never saw her again.

Sometimes every now and again
I don’t wonder what she’s up to now.