by Safa Maryam
Separate group plans, I’m a fresher again,
Secretly planning for our pub crawls to meet.
Half-heard exchanges deafen each ear,
Sticky spilt drinks condemn my clothes to the wash,
All endured without complaints,
All for the look on your sweet, flushed face,
As it searches for me across Soho space,
As it finds me beneath,
The technicolour stars.
But we’re not nineteen anymore,
Back when you needed drinks in you to be in love with me,
And team schemes to provoke proof of jealousy,
Led you to believe my fit friends wanted me.
No, we’re not nineteen anymore,
Now I’ve outgrown remembering the moments you chose to forget,
Now I can pocket the sliver of bitterness that remains,
Place forgiveness in your outstretched hand,
Under those same strobes,
Without your arm around me.