Beneath star and sky I dreamt of you.
Beneath a yawning sun I awoke,
cuddling the cold. The sky was not yet blue.
It was you but before his death. Not yet had
it sucked the living out of you. There was
hope in your eyes, your lips were not cracked.
You were only meant to pop out for smokes
you were to return, help with my spelling,
then tuck me up. They found me eating uncooked cake.
The neighbour had called them, I’ forget about
the neighbour. You’d always call him nosy.
he had called the police, saying there was no doubt
something was amiss-I’d been at the window for
something like four days and nights, waiting
as you might have done during my teenage years.
They took me to the station, gave me chocolate and coke,
they were kind, too kind, and I knew then, sitting
in the sergeants chair- you were never coming back.
Rusty Truck 