you were so, so bad at it. Just terrible,
hitting every everloving bump. You shoved me in the lift
shouting, ‘Sorry, I’ve got a phobia!’ and I glided in,
confused, tried to reach the buttons while you
ran down the stairs. Then you parked me facing the wall and I protested
and you pealed with laughter, almost crying (much, much funnier
to you than me but that’s okay, it’s okay, we’re friends,
you were nervous and I don’t expect you to understand).
And then you had to wheel me down that too-steep slope and God,
wasn’t it a hard and heavy job. I could feel how strong you were,
how strong you had to be, but still
I thought you were going to tip me out in a pile on the floor.
And of course the security officer asked you if I had a boarding pass
as if I couldn’t hear or speak, and those awful people turned to us,
you covered in tattoos with wild-dyed hair, and said,
‘This is the priority queue?’ in that snooty way
when the priority ticket costs all of an extra two pounds.
‘I wish I could do it justice, how funny it was,
how it was,’ I said to you in my dream.
You looked at me in silence, with dark eyes, like you knew,
like you knew what was around the corner, but how could you,
how could you have, it was so sudden, but then I knew as well.
We linked our little fingers and sat for a moment
in a way we never would have, never did, in life.
