Out In The Cold

‘I’m bad news,’
she said.

We were standing in her kitchen.

‘I’m not a good idea.’

It was the morning after.

The night before
she’d stood me
on my head
she had.

She’d whirled me round
she had.

‘It must be love, love’
was the tune in my brain.

But
she said it again:
‘I’m not good news.
I’m a bad idea.’

‘You staying
is not an option,’
is what she was really saying

but in that
‘it’s not you it’s me’
sort of way.

Trying to be nice about it.


That song