He said it was not his fault

He said he couldnt help the way
he made my family sick that Christmas.
He said he saw my sister pour her hot water bottle
in to the kettle, that she forgot to get it back
and that his only claim to guilt,
is that he's not inclined to like hot drinks.

We sat on the swings and held hands
across the mud gap,
we swung one another out
singing 'I will beat your ass'.
He said it was not his fault
my bracelt got stuck in the chains,
that we had magnetic palms,
and that mine was obviously more interested
in holding on to the strings.

In bed we made a turnstile
my head wedged in his arm pit
like a slice of cantaloupe.
When I woke in the morning
I asked him if he'd chewed my hair.
He said he was dreaming
of shoot outs in westerns
and wanted to get better into character.

When we went to the festival
and he insisted upon seperate tents
I knew he'd sung the songs
that make it rain more
and so make my tent mud slide
down the slope.

He said I looked like a scab
and why not just wear one of his T shirts
that my breasts looked bigger in them anyway
and that it was not his fault that I was sick after eating
the pastrami he gave me from the anorack pocket
and why dont I just go get better,
that there must be a book
that would make me think of him moe kindly.