Emily, they tore down the ABC

Emily, they tore down the ABC
where we went, every Friday
You and Me, in the back row
pretending to watch
with Technicolor
tinted glasses,
and reading
each other in brail,
tracing curves and bulges
with anonymity,
our intentions spelt out
with popcorn fingers
fumbling, buttons
and zippers, hidden
under half light
projected, protected
by the illusion of night,
behind a sea of heads,
an audience offended
as if turned in outrage
at our passions ignited,
that flickered and simmered
and boiled, leaving
only traces of broken
promise, etched forever
on velveteen chairs,
with more drama
honestly,
and unbridled humanity,
rarely seen
on the big screen,
Emily, they tore down the ABC
and put up a Poundshop,
where anything can be bought
for a pound, except memories
which are worth nothing,
to those without.