Liverpool Street

I’m looking deep.
Your eyes.
Puffed, crowed
and wet.

We sit near the steps.
Silk Cut comforted.
The blue plumes
of Liverpool Street.

Grass marks on jeans,
your boots unpolished,
from where they kicked me.
Hard and mean.

I lie and say
I love you.
Your bowed head,
refuses away.

You can’t let go.
His punch,
His spit.
I did not know.

Remembrance
is all
as we board our trains
to different stations.

Shamed,
regressed,
disappearing
into history.