Last night I walked home with my keys between my knuckles,

It was after 11pm and I’m not stupid.

I’d been to a party,

the snacks were fine,

the lemonade warm,

but my throat lacked the warm burn of someone tasting vodka and saying goodbye to their inhibitions.

And as I walked home,

scuttling and shivering,

I pulled my phone out of my pocket as I passed the bus stop,

And thought of you.

Normally I would call,

In the brief 7 minute walk from the party to my front door,

and I would be distracted from my keys and the street light.

And so, I smiled sadly,

because you would be at a party of your own.

And you wouldn’t have your keys between your knuckles,

And you wouldn’t be feeling scared or alone.

Categories: Poetry