2008, things we don’t do any more

The fence’s shadow crept
across the patio to where we’d spent
the afternoon
in the green plastic chairs of
your back yard.
And when it got to us we moved
out to the furthest frontier
of your row of houses’ car park
– a windowless concrete wall, still
soaking in
the last of the day’s sunshine.
Not one of the four of us
hesitated to sit down on the warm tarmac,
backs against the wall
in our high street fashion.
Plastic sunglasses
and grubby bare feet.
Young men don’t mind
sitting on the ground
or chasing the warmth of the afternoon sun
like cats.
Not least on Saturday afternoons
, home from those hard early weeks in the working world.
Bellies full
of barbecued food
and supermarket white wine.


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