It Was Summer Outside

But,
we were in bed.
Fully dressed.
You still had your shoes on,
all lazy and stoned and laughing.
We were listening to an audio tape
and laughing.

That day was fresh,
like sheets,
and new and we were too
and we were so excited.

We were women
and women were
cocaine, jazz,
perspective.

We were the new craze.

And there was so much
still to find out,
out of my mind on love
for that room
and that moment
and that you.

You were sat up,
talking about feminism.
Slurring on your slow words.

I always liked your face,
so bright
and full of mischief.

Small and blonde
and your eyes so blue
and you
were electric.

The audio tape was talking
about pubic hair,
“do you shave down there?”
that sort of thing, but,
we had decided
that we didn’t fucking care.

It was a revelation,
to talk about sex
and women’s rights
and broken boys
and … wanking

Imagine!

It was summer outside,
and we were going to change the world.
It was summer outside
and we were cocaine,
and you were electric,
and I was a feminist
and your eyes were blue
and hey, look, mine are too
and you
were laughing.

We were going to move in together
and live like this always.
Bohemian,
all cheese cloth and opinions.
Sexy to be strident
you said.

Manu Chao on the radio
I’d be dancing in a dressing gown.
A waterfall of tangled hair
down my back
I’d be beautiful.

You’d be smoking on the sofa.

It wasn’t Paris,
but we’d pretend it was.
We’d drink whiskey
with revolutionaries,
make friends with the old men in pubs
who had stories to tell.
We’d find new ways to get in trouble,
play records,
play dress up,
fuck up,
fuck pretty people
and go on walks on Sundays,
when I wasn’t working in the bookshop
or working on this writing thing.

‘Cos we were young women,
and it was so exciting.

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