OLD BROWN SLIP-ON SHOES
There they sit,
at the end of your bed,
As you left them.
A hodge-podge of hurry,
Quickly dispersed in the rush
to change into trainers
And quickly out to play.
And your bed is stripped back,
The bell-ringing blue plastic sheet,
designed to stop your bed-wetting,
is neatly stacked at the bottom of your bed…
All the detritus of you remains,
but you do not.
The smell of you:-
Is the smell of piss.
The memory of you…
is your hot body in my bed,
after an “accident” in yours.
And then the hot wet piss
spreading across the back of my pants, back of my legs…
And there is no-where to hide,
Even on the edge of the mattress
Your pee invades my space.
It disturbs me that after forty four years…
These are the memories that stick:-
A pair of broken down heels
on old brown slip-on shoes
and a bed soaked in urine;
A blue electric sheet with a bell…
Which only ever woke me and never you…
But now, nothing will ever wake you.
And memory wanes… but you will always by there…
copyright Dale Beck 2018