Redrafting Prose Poem 2
I still can’t get this right because I still can’t find what my feelings are for him, that school friend in schools I hated and yet managed to put on a face and be, on the surface, ‘successful’ in, but as soon as I could, aged sixteen I dropped out.
I’ve tried to make it more pithy this time
i. m. RJH (revision 2)
At school dinner, you’re sliding your semolina to me You’d sat on Prince Regent. We shared a study. Your girlfriend was called Ivy. You looked at me and told me I’d got the measles. You captain and me vice-captain of the house cricket team. Practising together.
Prepschool, public school: eight years of termtime everydays - chapel, lessons, prep, practice, shower, your blond confidence there, then. Till I dropped out, and you went on, became a rich CEO, and I never wrote. You’re still twelve years old, pushing that full toss to deep mid-off for your hundred and calling “Yes!” with an almost singing joy.