Time Management

The Dalston night is still warm,
the jasmine strong. I’m wondering,
as I lock up, if these rotting windows
could keep anyone out. Even the wisteria
gets in and snakes dizzily around
the kitchen wall in September.

A musical groan from the balcony tells me
the night is not over for Donny
ensconced on the comfy orange corduroy
chair – it was for us but it’s his now,
his striped marmalade coat
blending with the saffron cord.

He croons again to me – so
I stay a while but he knows
I’m itching to go. He stands up on
...