Methodist Centre

The night I came round
to your two bedroom semi
for part baked
sausage rolls
and two crates of stella

I figured that
blood trickled
like smelting tar
deep inside
the pores of your skin

You took me upstairs
got out the black box
tried on a pvc halter
crotchless hot pants
showed me your third nipple
“he likes me kinky”
you uttered as
the policewoman’s costume
came out from the wardrobe

that night I
heard him beat you
cracking your head
against the stone fireplace

trapped under the duvet
I hid from him and you
until you found
sanctuary
nestled in my arms

naked but for a
red lace g-string
and three dinner plate bruises
running across your chest
you cried to me
“please don’t ever tell”

Remember:
when we were 7
breaking into
your dad’s top drawer?
ripping open a durex packet
pushing it over the end of the tap
until it held
a bath’s full of
water and foam
we screamed with laughter
until we got caught

The time when you
starred in my student
porn movie
stalked by a
werewolf in the closet?

The night I made you
wet the bed
dressed as count Dracula
in a black bed sheet
covering my head
in the YMCA?

I even forgave you
for Mark O****
letting him push
his cock between your tits
thinking I’d never find out

Stephanie –
you never became Katie Price
but left for a Barrett estate
in Welwyn Garden City
to marry that cunt
working in uniform
for the Metropolitan Police.

Megan Hall