Written as part of Inside Voices poetry project

in cars their parents bought them and pulling over to stand on the sidelines of their rugby games in our maroon netball uniforms wondering whether they’ll notice us and what we’ll wear to the party that night whether we’ll sit on couches or outside in the cold where more rugby will play and they’ll drink a box of Flame beer and we’ll have a four-pack of peach Archers and the private school girls will arrive in dresses better than we could even imagine and they’ll disappear into the dark and afterwards they’ll look through the window at us kissing a stranger and yell - she’s frigid as fuck bro – and then they’ll throw up on the lawn after getting a blowjob in the bush and tell everyone about it in maths class on Monday.

older now and still going round with boys except they’re men which most of the time just means they have their own Head and Shoulders in the shower but there’s really only one I want to spend my time with and I hope it’s for a long time but how can we know anything for sure these days - despite this - he sends me flowers and even though the bouquet’s wrapped in two-tone yellow and purple paper I forgive him because some things can’t be controlled down the phone line plus the sentiment is one of the nicest things any man has ever done for me besides break my heart and introduce me as a lesbian at the jock party but the flowers eventually die and I throw them into the wheelie bin which is not a representation of how I feel these things just have to be done but it’s strange though isn’t - the ephemerality of physical things despite the depth of our feelings towards them – it’s good to remember how far you’ve come and how much that needs to mean.