The Sometimes Kid

by Michelle Davey 




The Sometimes Kid and I spilt our innocence on top of a mattress
rehomed at the back of an empty warehouse
bleaching our throats and the stains white with cider.
We waited for the stars
under the glint of teethy glass
which smiled at us wickedly from the exploded frames
we lay beneath.

The Sometimes Kid felt for my hand
to hold with my heart
whilst we etched out our own stars together,
bright orbs gaining momentum
through breathless plans, trailing from our mouths
hot and white
scrawling spindling constellations
in our name.

The Sometimes Kid and I looked for those stars
seated upon electrical boxes where we watched the drunks stumble home
grasping for something to keep them steady.
Us clinging to one another as their worn hands felt for our green box throne,
sliding to the ground, heads lulled and eyes misted
searching for broken dreams.

The Sometimes Kid put me in the passenger seat
as I begged him to reconsider
the distance he out between us.
My screams doused in screeching tyres and sirens.

The Sometimes Kid sleeps on mattresses
slopped with cider
scanning the skies for abandoned dreams
wondering if she took them with her
or left them in the footwell of that car
she ran from
while he flicked the match and let it burn.

Author Bio

Michelle Davey is a poet, writer and radio presenter from East London. She blogs as the Cockney in the Countryside since her move to the English countryside. Michelle is a mother of 3 and an advocate for autism awareness. She can be found on twitter and Instagram @thecockneybloggirl and at