He won’t let me go back the way we came,
scared she might see
us together
and guess what we are up to
as if she is psychic
and we have something to hide,
which we do
his shoulders sagging
from the weight of
guilt,
having spoken about
her,
what both have shared with her,
the roles we’ve both
played,
he a better mentor than me,
he having rehearsed
the role all his life
when it got thrust on me,
leaving me to screw
it up
I never wanted to play that part
in anyone’s life, especially hers
both of us conscious
of the window behind which she sits
looking down on
a street we must take to get back there,
I’m walking on oyster shells,
each step sounding
like breaking bones.
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