Simple Division
Let’s have that Saturday afternoon again
bottomless brunch on Call Lane, turning up late to
familiar jokes and frozen strawberry daiquiris, turning my tongue
to ice and painting my lips in cheap red.
To be back on the broken picnic bench on Sovereign Square,
drinking cloudy beer outside and comparing
corduroy shirts with Kirky,
browsing half a dozen burger menus on the rooftop at Belgrave,
asking about the biggest portions, and between one two three
too many, arguing over the perfect measurement of beer,
from thirds to schooners to pints, the waitress laughing
scattering the hours left until Sunday simply
divides us further
DRYSTONE. 