We stood side by side on the steps of the Hilton,
Not a posh one in a city, with an airport nearby,
But one in our grey little overspill town,
Constructed entirely from great lumps of cement.
And then there was us, taking those steps, two at a time,
Racing towards the moonlit park, where we’d kiss
Under the trees, as pools of light washed over us,
Cars racing by on the ring road, going nowhere at all,
Probably drunk; a little like us. Sixteen
And our first night out alone, with a hip flask
Filled with whisky from the parents’ cabinet.
My dress is torn as I flash through the undergrowth
Like one of those trout that I fed with bread
On the way home from primary school,
Knee socks pulled up high and book bags slung
Over expectant shoulders, still wondering who
Would be my first kiss, who I would date,
Wearing that tux and whispering sweet nothings
Into my ear. I loved you then, and I love you now,
Twenty years on and those memories of school
Swimming away with those rainbow fish.