And when it rained, remember that? Remember
the spit of summer showers - the monkey's wedding,
you said, that's what they call it, ‘cos it happens at the same time,
like our getting a hiding after stealing -
was it figs? - you know I think it was, figs,
there's a funny word,
like friend. Figs - and God it hurt,
that hiding,
that beating for telling others I saw you cry.
Although I never said a word about the wet pants, I swear.

And remember when we went off to university?
You grew up so fast. But you still told me things,
like why God doesn't exist, and why, when things go wrong,
there's usually someone to blame, like the government.
And remember when they locked you up? When you
carried that rude banner protesting about
something I can't remember.
And all because you were bunking off lectures.
I can't forget
that it was me you called instead of your folks.

Remember, nah - I know there's no point,
I was your best man at both your weddings,
and I was really happy for you, twice.
And remember when I told you about my boyfriend James,
remember that day? When it rained while the sun shone,
when you nodded  while I went on and on,
like you probably do now about your grandchildren.
Who can remember?
There's nowt so queer as folk.

Yet, I cannot believe that you have forgotten
the very last day that we ever spoke.

© Alan David Pritchard