It’s the first day of summer dresses – you’re in turquoise hospital slacks,
an old grey T-shirt with slashed neck, loose All Stars (red-wine red).
(‘Let’s just slip these on, shall we?’)
I can just judge the precise angle.
You can just reach, touch, the splintered picnic table,
footplate permitting. Just, just, just.
You’re yourself, but not left-handed.
With your learning right you’re lusting back a viscous juice,
trembling, rippling the fluid.
‘Delicious. So much oranger, you know, than speech-therapy liquid.
That swallow test! – and now, to drink like this, to quench this drought
on a humid afternoon, on this day pass lease,’ (you’re running out of
breath, breathe).
‘Even just to watch your lips, your gulp! – You best bitter lush!’
‘Cheers!’ I say, and you say, ‘Cheers, right enough!’ Cheers. CHEERS.
(Cheers).