A memory.  February 2016.  Walking the

streets of Salford through skewering winter

rain, on a hopeless errand.  I’m listening

to music.  Something by Radiohead –

a plodding acoustic strum rhymes with my steps. 

That’s not me

Two pharmacies already, turned away from both,

like an addict trying their luck.  But this isn’t for me.

It’s for my Dad – something to help him sleep while his

body slowly drowns him. 

The song sighs into the chorus. 

I’m not here.  This isn’t happening.

Walking, walking.  Keep going. The next shop has to

have it.  It has to. Up the hill, past high concrete walls. 

Past the women’s centre with its steel grills.  Past

the shops. I used to walk here with him sometimes. 

Sweeping electronic crying fills my head. 

The moment’s already passed. 

The rain doesn’t stop. I already know

what they’re going to say.